9

What is it about showers? I don’t see it coming. I wake with a headache, and a dry mouth; with fuzzy teeth and a feeling that I have missed the morning. Champagne saying goodbye. I lie there a while, lost in the huge feather pillows, seeing the week that has passed, a week like no other in the life of me, then equally unlikely pictures of the weeks ahead. Fabulous, optimistic pictures. Pictures of what it might be like, to have a small portion of fame and a large helping of money. Silly, happy fantasies. The people I will meet. The way they will notice me, regard me. The way I will impress; demand new, finer, opportunities. And the way, of course, I will fall in love. An adoring equal. A place, at last. My year of having made it.

I get up, move slowly into the shower. The flow is strong, the water instantly hot. I undress, relax, feel the warmth washing over me, and then, without warning or reason, The Sadness is back.

How to describe it? It’s like trying to explain how it feels to stand at the edge of the ocean. If you’ve been there, you don’t need the explanation. The Sadness is not a feeling, but a numbness. Feelings losing shape, so there is nothing for a thought to cling to, nothing for a sensation to brace against. It is a slow, unstoppable slide away from myself. Pissed Off has energy and direction, it takes you with it; but with The Sadness, you are simply slipping away. I am in the shower still, but I’m not in the shower. The feeling of water is now so distant that it is surely another Pete it is falling on.

I sink against the floor; wet, naked, absent. It will pass. This always passes. There will be a moment, an opportunity, when I can stand, shake it off, walk away. This will always be true. I’m not frightened. I let it do what it must for me, and then I let it pass.

There are patterns. The Sadness comes for a reason. Our minds are not our own. We hold conversations, my mind and me. Sometimes. Other times, it doesn’t feel the need to keep me informed. But it notices things. And when it thinks I need it, it warns me. Sometimes just with tiredness, or a tightening in the head. Sometimes with the Pissed Off. Mornings like this, it sends The Sadness. And I know now, sitting here, waiting for the moment when I will be allowed to stand, that this thing is not simple after all. This story, the fabulous rise of Pete to his rightful place, isn’t over.

The day is easy and uneventful. The Sadness retreats and I am able to forget its visit. A man comes from an advertising agency. He takes photos and measurements. Lucinda teaches me how to hit a golf drive; the balls sail clear over the cliff and out into the water below. The sun is shining, apologetic after the storm. We are happy, all three. They talk into cellphones, make arrangements, tell me that tomorrow we will head back into town. Promise that after dinner they will take me through the best way of explaining this to my family. Money, success, prospects. I’m not sure I need the help.

And then, dinner still settling in our stomachs, Marcus on the keyboard, trying to bring up some bootleg concert footage he has downloaded, there is knocking on the door. It happens.

It is an abrupt sound. Not a quiet, respectful knocking. Not a lodge employee with a message, a friend or a colleague, sorry to be intruding. Three knocks, beating out a steady, confident rhythm. The first is loud, the second stronger still, the third will not be ignored. The sound of trouble. You will come now, it says. I am here, and now your life must change.

Marcus looks to Lucinda. I watch them closely.

‘Expecting someone?’ Marcus asks. Lucinda shrugs. They look to me. I shake my head. They don’t believe me. Marcus stands, walks over to the door. Lucinda is beside me, on the couch. She doesn’t move.

‘Is he here?’

‘Pete. Who do you think?’

She barges past him, strides into the room. I hear Lucinda’s sharp, involuntary in-breath, ‘Jesus,’ whispered to herself, as the air leaks back out.

Lucinda stands slowly, confronts the stranger. The two of them know each other. I have never seen her before in my life, although she looks to me and smiles, as if we are old friends, asks –

‘Are you alright?’

‘Sure,’ I reply, totally fascinated, missing everything.

‘What are you doing here, Sophie?’ Lucinda demands. A slow smile breaks over Sophie’s face. She walks forward until she and Lucinda are face to face.

‘I’m here for Pete.’

Sophie and Lucinda. Opposite and alike. Sophie is shorter, by at least 20 centimetres, younger, by at least ten years. My age. Her hair is dark, dyed black in the way of those who like the certainty. It is long enough to cover her eyes, and carefully unkempt. She is thin; a body shaped by bones, emptied by nervous energy. Her skirt is long and black as her hair, its lace brushes over green leather boots. The top is woollen, short sleeves worn defiantly against the weather. Her mouth, tightly locked down and ready for battle, is still full. There is no makeup. I see small nostrils flare slightly in concentration, and I see her eyes.

Opposite and alike. Alike in the eyes. I have no choice but to watch her eyes. In this they are twins. I stare, and feel the charge building between them. Wait for it to crackle free. On the opposite side of the room, Marcus is watching too. Sophie speaks first.

‘I hate you. You know that. I hate you and I hate everything you stand for. But that’s not why I’m doing this.’

Not a bad way of breaking the silence.

‘Go home, Sophie.’

‘When I’ve got what I came for.’

‘What’s he told you, Sophie?’

‘Your father. Your stupid father. It’s not true. He doesn’t know what’s going on. Whatever you think he told you, it isn’t true.’

‘If he’s so stupid, why did you fuck him?’ Sophie spits the question straight up, into her face. Lucinda doesn’t flinch. I watch as a stranger watches, ignorant and compelled. I know that somehow I must be involved, the prickling at the back of my neck tells me this much, but I can’t even guess how. The tension winds tighter between them and I edge forward on my seat, sucked in by their gravity.

‘Don’t think I don’t regret it.’

‘I know what you’re doing here. I know what you’re trying to do to Pete.’

‘You don’t know anything about Pete.’

‘I know him better than you think.’

At this Lucinda pauses and turns to me accusingly, which is unfair, but not unusual.

‘Pete, do you know this girl?’

‘No,’ I answer, which is honest and yet, I’m sure, in some impossibly complicated way, quite wrong.

‘You’ve never met her before?’

‘No, I haven’t.’

‘We’ve talked though,’ Sophie interrupts. ‘By computer.’

She looks directly at me, tries to straighten out my thinking with her eyes.

‘Pete, this isn’t how I wanted to explain it to you, but I’m Rob.’

I’m Rob. Two words for a life to pivot on. I look at her. Stare at her. See nothing new, nothing but this tiny girl, with huge eyes. Who isn’t Rob. Can’t be Rob. Rob inside my head, who at this very moment is breaking up and threatening to float away. I try to grab hold of him, remember who it was I talked to. Rob is older than me. He dresses badly, spends too many hours in front of his computer, is shy in public. He doesn’t barge in on a place like this. He doesn’t know Lucinda. His father doesn’t sleep with Lucinda. Rob is mysterious, political, radical, connected. He knows things, and people. He is unshaven, now that I think about it; smells of coffee and cigarettes. He has a little bedsit beneath the shadow of the motorway. He could make big money if he wanted, designing websites or consulting in computer security, but he chooses to remain on the outside. A deluded romantic with big ideas. And he isn’t real. He is words on a screen that arrived, provoked, melted away.

And she, Sophie, standing before me, young, angry, beautiful (admit it Pete, beautiful) says she is Rob. It can’t be true, and it has to be true, and my brain is not equipped to plot a path between the two, so I sit, and I stare, and wait for life to do its worst.

‘So, aren’t you going to say something?’ she asks.

‘Hi,’ I say. Lame. Useless, exposed. The Sadness knew what it was doing, visiting this morning.

‘Pete.’ It is Marcus, still standing guard at the door. ‘Who’s Rob? What’s this all about?’

‘I don’t know,’ I tell him. Anything you say will be taken down, and may be used in evidence. I don’t want to talk, I want to watch. Marcus turns his attention to Lucinda. So this is what he looks like flustered; it only adds to the dry excitement building in this air-conditioned room.

‘Who is this? What’s she doing here?’

‘This is Sophie Wade,’ Lucinda tells him, not taking her eyes off the girl. There is a special sound the voice makes, high in the throat, a vibration of uncertainty, when you regret the words you are forced to say. I hear it now. ‘Phil’s daughter.’

Phil Wade’s daughter? Rob is Phil Wade’s daughter? I was in her house. I drag my eyes back to Marcus. His face is dark and his mouth is twisting, no matter how hard he is trying to control the reaction.

‘You slept with Phil?’ Marcus as little-boy-hurt. It’s like at the end of The Wizard of Oz, when they pull back the curtain. ‘When?’

‘What does it matter when?’ She dismisses his concern with her hand.

‘Last summer.’ Sophie fills in the gap.

‘And that doesn’t matter?’ Marcus is furious now. His world, our world, is unravelling.

‘Marcus.’ She stops him with a word. If it came down to it, a fight between the two of them, Lucinda would win. She is too vicious for him. Sophie smiles to herself.

There are four people in the room, 81 different ways of looking at one another; all of us are looking around, trying to cover the possibilities.

‘So why’s she here?’ Marcus asks.

‘I don’t know,’ Lucinda tells him. ‘Why don’t you ask her?’

‘I don’t care who tells me, I just want someone to explain what the fuck’s going on here.’

‘Like you told Pete what was going on?’ Sophie challenges, matching the fight in his voice.

‘Pete knows exactly what’s going on,’ Lucinda counters, which must be a joke, because I’m totally bewildered.

‘Is that right?’ Sophie’s eyes light up at the possibility of victory. ‘So Pete, tell me, who do think these people here are working for?’

She looks at the two of them, so very pleased with herself.

‘PBs,’ I answer, not meaning to hurt, but seeing the words puncture her.

Silence, while she takes that in.

‘So why are you still here? What are you doing with them?’ she demands.

I shrug. I’m not ready, I want to tell her. Get back to me. My answer isn’t ready.

‘Not that it’s any of your business, Sophie,’ Lucinda says. ‘But what he’s doing is arranging a contract with us, for an advertising campaign we’re about to undertake. So you see, there’s nothing for you to do here. Why don’t you leave?’

‘Are you crazy, Lucinda?’ Marcus again. I follow the voices with my head, like a spectator at the tennis. I’m the only one not standing.

‘She’s not going anywhere.’

‘Why not?’ asks Lucinda.

‘Why do you think?’ He stares at Lucinda desperately, but for once their telepathy is letting them down. Marcus turns to me instead.

‘Who’s Rob?’ he demands.

‘This is, apparently,’ I tell him, nodding towards Sophie. I know it’s not what he means by the question, but seeing him like this, seeing him and Lucinda like this, suddenly I don’t like them so much. He advances towards me, and it’s Lucinda who moves to block his way.

‘What are you doing?’ she demands, urgent, quiet. Marcus looks at her, and I think it is a flash of loathing I see in his face. How could this be possible? Lucinda and Marcus, each perfect in themselves, together the ultimate team, not getting along. Falling apart.

‘Pete, listen to me.’ Marcus looks past her, fixes his eyes on me. ‘This is vitally important. Is Rob how you got onto the PBs site? Is this how you did it?’

Lucinda, clever Lucinda, hasn’t thought this through. I see realisation wipe across her face. I hear the silent ‘fuck’, as she turns her eyes to me. I look past both of them. Sophie is still smiling.

‘Is it, Pete? Is that what happened? Of course it is. How much does she know? How much of this have you discussed?’

I don’t know why I’m smiling, but I am. They’re in some sort of trouble, and I’m not. And there’s hints of what that trouble might be, and what it means about everything that’s gone before. Hints that they’ve been lying to me.

My silence is the only thing they care about, it’s the only thing they’re paid to care about. They don’t care about who I am or what I might be. When I jumped up on that counter, it was them I was treading all over. Them, this beautiful, clever twosome, whom I so much wanted to be with, be like. They are the scum that floats to the top of the stagnant pool while the rest of us desperately tread water. Everything that’s so right about them, the confidence, the certainty, the answer to every question before it’s asked, is everything that’s wrong.

Yes, I can believe it. This is why The Sadness visited, and this is why I’m smiling now. I’m smiling because the Pissed Off is back, and it’s armed and it’s dangerous. There are things in my head that can bring them to their knees. Not just them, but their whole stupid corporation. They see my smile and they get it too. They’re fucked now. Finished. Broken. Deep Fried.

‘I’ve already told you,’ I say. ‘I’ve never met her before.’

‘She gave you the password didn’t she? She gave you the password to her father’s account?’

I look to Sophie/Rob. Give her a smile. She smiles back. It’s a real smile. She wasn’t paid to make it. I like her. Lucinda is desperate now. She leans over me, speaks quickly. Her words are flecked with spit and venom.

‘Pete, Pete. Don’t listen to her. Whatever she’s told you, don’t listen to her. It’s bullshit. Look, okay, I had an affair with her father, and that’s not something I’m proud of. She’s known, since last year. She hates me. That’s alright, she has a right to hate me. But what’s that got to do with you, Pete? How does that change anything for you? Come on. This morning you were perfectly happy to be here. Perfectly happy to be part of this. The campaign’s cool, you said so yourself. You get well paid. You get what you deserve. What’s so important that it’s worth giving that up for? What are you even fighting here?’

She’s practically begging me. I haven’t said a thing to make her think I’ve changed my mind, but she knows. I’ll give her that much, she understands me. Understands I don’t have any choice. She waits for my answer but I don’t give it. Sophie speaks up on my behalf. Lucinda’s perfectly right, Sophie does hate her.

‘What do you think’s so important? How about the health of an entire generation? How about the workers you exploit? The customers you lie to, the environment you’re destroying? The health system that can’t cope with the fallout? I can think of a hundred good reasons to give it up.’

Lucinda turns on her. Her rage is pure and loses nothing in the translation. I stand. There’s something about the whole up-close Discovery Channel thing that makes me. Fight, flight or commentate.

‘Oh spare me your fucking lectures, you self-righteous, ignorant little bitch.’ Marcus is watching too, as helpless as I am. In this thing, ours is the gentler sex. Lucinda is on her toes, towering over Sophie. I think she might mean to hit her. Sophie smiles and stands her ground. She doesn’t even blink.

To be fair to Lucinda though, the counter-assault is relentless. I don’t think she even stops to take a breath.

‘What, you think we invented obesity and heart disease? So how come people are living longer than they ever have, smart arse? Answer me that. And even if they weren’t, how exactly would that be my fault, if people are so broken they choose to eat themselves to death? I didn’t break them. It wasn’t people like me who broke them. It was smug, patronising arseholes like you. And don’t start with me on the environment, because I have seen the figures and the environmental impact of a PBs meal is only forty percent of that of a home cooked dinner, that’s how economies of scale work. Minimising resource use is how we make our money. So hate profit, or hate wastefulness, but you can’t have both. If you want the whole world to sink into its own shit, then by all means follow your homespun undergraduate organic fairy tale, but don’t you dare come in here preaching to me about how I’m hurting the planet. Face it, Sophie, being angry doesn’t make you right. You’re young and you’re stupid, and that’s all you have to feed your certainty. Well, Pete isn’t like that. Pete is an exceptionally clever young man with a future to think about. So leave him alone and get the hell out of here.’

It’s impressive, but only in the way of being so well-rehearsed that the anger almost sounds real. I don’t believe a word of it. Lucinda’s right about that much. I’m clever. Impressive, too, is the way Sophie’s still smiling. Sophie believes in me. Really believes in me. And I love that.

Marcus moves forward, into the space carved out by our silence. He speaks quietly, softly. Back to the old team of two then. Good cop, bad cop.

‘She can stay a while, if she’d rather. We can talk about this some more, if that’s what you guys want.’

‘Forget it,’ Lucinda snaps at him. ‘She doesn’t know a thing. She would have told the world by now, if she did. Get her out of here.’

Still Sophie is smiling.

‘That’s okay,’ she tells them. ‘I was about to leave anyway. Come on, Pete. You’ve seen what they’re like. We’ve got work to do.’

She turns and walks back to the door and neither of them expect me to follow. But I do. It’s not complicated. It’s not something I have to think about. Silence follows us. A stunned, this can’t be happening, silence. We almost make it.

Violence is always a surprise. I know it isn’t like that for everyone. Other people expect their peace to be punctuated by savage outbursts, but I’ve grown up in lucky times. I’ve lived in a quiet little suburb in a quiet little world where people die slowly, bit by bit. Where we sit on our hands and breathe in deeply, and save our rage for city driving and talkback radio. When someone hits out in my world, when the spittle and fists and grunts are flying, it’s a sign of a fault in the manufacture. The assailant is taken in for counselling and repairs. Apologies follow. I’m not good at violence. I just haven’t had the practice. I’m a hedgehog without spikes. I curl up into my little ball. I wait for it to stop. I wait for the pain to go away.

Marcus acts alone. Lucinda follows, and the difference is a matter of instants only. He has my hair, a handful of it at the back of my head, and runs straight past me, pulling up short of the wall and whiplashing my face right into it. The pain spreads out from my nose. Sharp and excruciating at first, broken I would say, and then a dull, blurred-eye dizzyness takes hold. My knees buckle forward. I am vaguely aware that I am reaching behind me, trying to take his hand before he can slam me again. But I am weakened by shock, and terror, and conditioning. I am pulled up tall, my head jerks back, then forward again. This time it is my cheekbone, below my right eye, which takes the impact. And all I can think is there is no one here to say don’t. No teacher, no policeman, no mate to come running in. This is how it is to be alone. I am falling now, down into the carpet. I can hear grunting behind me. Lucinda and Sophie wrestling each other to the ground. Another blow, a kick to my ribs this time. Something cracks.

I try to make it up on to my knees. I half turn, enough to see the two of them are holding Sophie down. She is the opposite of me, all flailing fury. She has Lucinda’s hair. Marcus steps forward. A closed fist to her face. I hear the impact, see her snap backwards. Marcus turns back to me. This is what violence looks like up close. It is red, and pulsates, and smells of blood. Crushingly common. My hands are up in front of my face, outstretched, pleading. I am on my knees. I am crying. Soon, surely, I will vomit.

I see Sophie on her back, not moving. Lucinda turns. Both of them are breathing heavily. Lucinda leans forward, sucks in extra air.

‘This makes it interesting.’

‘Now what?’ he asks.

‘Get something to tie them up with. We’ll put them in his room. I’ll call George.’

‘Jesus.’ He looks almost regretful, the way a human might.

‘It was always a possibility.’

‘Don’t worry about it. We tried. It’s not our problem any more. Silly little bastard.’

‘What are you looking at?’

I shake my head. Nothing. Nothing. I wasn’t looking at anything. He advances. All that anger. He kept it well hidden. His boot swings up. Everything goes black.

‘Pete. Pete. Ssshh. Don’t say anything.’

Her finger is on my lips. My vision is blurred with tears. I move to wipe my eyes but my hands are tied. A new pain, raw and cutting at my wrists, muscles in on my aching head. We are in my room, sitting against the wall. The curtains are drawn. It is still night. There is enough light to make out Sophie’s face, but not enough to distinguish shadow from bruising. It comes back in fragments. I smell vomit on my shirt, taste the acrid burn at the back of my mouth. Slowly a picture forms. She, Sophie, is no longer tied. She is whispering to me, telling me not to speak, not to make a sound. She pushes my shoulders forward, to get at my ropes. I double over, feel the pulling and tugging, her body leaning against mine. I feel fear. Cold, stale terror; the kind you can only feel on waking to find it wasn’t just a dream.

There are other pains. My ribs, my knee, my nose. My hands are loose now. I pull the last of the coils free myself.

‘How did you manage that?’ I whisper.

Her finger settles back on my lips in reply. She stands before me, helps me to my feet. We both stand, listening to the silence that expands in the spaces between our breathing. I check my watch and see Sophie glow blue before me. Half past two. She takes my hand, leads me towards the window. I feel safe, a child sheltering behind a parent.

Sophie gently eases the window open. Cold wind whips into the room, flicks the curtain about my face. The ledge is no higher than my waist. Sophie climbs out first. I hear her feet settle into the garden below. She turns to me, offers me her hand. It should be easy, this, but I am stiff and sore, and frightened. I am half out when the gust rushes past, slams the window back against my head. It’s impossible to tell what sort of noise it makes, my head just rings with the pain of it.

‘Come on!’ Sophie urges. I lean out, push the window back, try to bring up my leg, swivel on my arse on the narrow ledge.

Light and sound explode behind me. A door swinging open.

‘Window! They’re out the window! Go round the outside!

Marcus’s voice, just behind me. I throw myself forward, feel the cold wet ground against my face.

‘Get a torch! Who’s got the torches?’

Another voice, back in the building. Another male voice. A third greets it from somewhere out ahead of us. They’re everywhere.

I get to my feet, stumble forward, fighting just to straighten. Sophie is ahead. It is all I know. Whatever happens now, it should happen to us together. I follow Sophie.

We round the building and are blinded by the light of a powerful torch, ten metres ahead, maybe less.

‘Here! Round here. Got them!’

‘Which way?’

‘Over here. Go to the gate. They’re turning back. Cut them off at the gate!’

So we turn back again, rush towards the light. I don’t know why. Sophie does it, I follow. She cuts left, I cut right, we divide around him in the darkness. I feel his hands on me as he dives to make the tackle. I step high, over his reach, hope that thing I feel crunch beneath my foot is part of him.

‘Which way?’ Sophie asks. I don’t have an answer. There is a second building, some sort of shed, across the driveway. We head towards it. Our feet hit the gravel. The sound is louder than the wind or the ocean. Other footsteps are rushing our way. A car starts up, its headlights sweep through the drizzle, capture us in their glare. The car lurches forward, the engine revving crazily. Sophie’s face lights up ghostly white. She turns to me, pleading. I don’t know what I have to offer. I don’t know much at all. Only that they will kill us, if they can. Put yourself there, any place that close to death, and you’ll know too. Your heart will tell you, pumping out a final rhythm, drowning in adrenalin. Every nerve, every sense, every muscle will know. And it doesn’t matter what you think in a moment like that, because your body isn’t your own. Your body won’t be ready to die.

We rush left, and the car adjusts its line. It is almost on us, only a second away from an ending. I tackle Sophie hard, back in the opposite direction, and feel the rush of air as I hit the ground and the tyres squeal by. The car brakes hard. A man screams out in pain.

‘Fucken hell!’

‘Are you alright?’

‘You fucken hit me.’

‘Back up. Back up. They’re getting away!’

We are, but away to where? The driveway is blocked. Two of them at least, running in from that direction. How many are there? Where did they come from? Four. There must be at least four. Lucinda was driving the car. I guarantee it. The bitch.

They’re closing in. A torch, from our right. Five then. We stand frozen in its beam. We’re blocked. I’m out of choices.

‘Don’t move,’ a voice booms out. ‘There’s no way out. It’ll be better for you if you don’t move.’

I look at Sophie. Her eyes are as wide as mine. She knows.

‘Take my hand,’ I tell her.

‘Why?’ Sophie asks.

‘Just do it.’

‘What are you doing?’

‘Keep your feet together and your toes pointing down. Remember to hold your breath. Stretch out and let your body float to the top.’

‘Pete, no!’

‘They’ll kill us. It’s alright. I’ve done this before.’

It’s not alright. It’s too dark to be sure if this is even the right place. The tide is different, the wind is driving the ocean in. And with no wetsuits, no light …

So what do you do? Do you jump, or do you wait for them to push you? I don’t think you know, until it faces you. I don’t think any of us can know.

My mind is blank. My body is rushing forward, towards the cliff. I have her hand. At first I pull her on, but then she is there, running beside me, and the fear is gone. This isn’t real. There is another place, inside your head, where things like this make sense. This is legend. This is a movie. This is fucken Thelma and Louise. We scream, the both of us, as the ground gives way before us. And then, again, all is darkness. Darkness and air, and a free-falling rush, and I am frightened, again.

The water hits hard. The angle is all wrong, it cracks across my side, opens the ribs back up, slaps my face, but it’s relief I feel as I go under. Water not rock. I’ve taken in water, forgotten not to gasp in at the shock. I want to cough it out. I feel the wet weight crushing my breathing. Not yet. The world has slowed. I must make it back to the surface. Sophie has gone. Somewhere up there our hands let go. I spread out, desperately wanting to kick, swim up, but something in my brain won’t let me. Relax, it says. It’s dark. You don’t know up from down.

I will die, or I will reach the surface. And there’s nothing I can do, either way. I’m too small. Too unimportant. And if today, I’m given another chance, there are people up above who wish to kill me. And if they fail, if I escape all of this, time will take me anyway, one way or another. This moment of almost going under, it’s a taste. That’s what I think, as I stretch out in the water. I am dying. Now, later, some time. I am tiny. I am nothing. But the rising, choking fear tells another story. Tells me this is everything. I am vast, complicated; way too good to die.

I feel a tightening at my collar. Something has me. A hand, pulling me on. My mind is a fuzz now, I can’t say what’s real. But I swim with the pulling. Up to the air, down to my death? The surface breaks over me. The first breath is all instinct. I cough, splutter, flail, go under, only for a moment, air again, feel the waves crashing in, pulling me in towards the rocks. It’s her, Sophie, who has dragged me through. I watch the water break over her. Her face pops up, white, searching, trying to swim towards me. I hear shouting up above. Can’t make out the words.

Another wave comes through. This time I swim on the top of it, feel the surge as it takes me in. The shore ahead is blacker than the night. Sharp shapes rise up out of the receding water. Something slams into my side. A rock. The current takes me under it. I feel my face scraping against shells. This isn’t over. I claw my way back up to the surface, leap at the rock this time, take it by surprise, before it can hit me again. Another breaker comes through but I hang on. Take in more air. Try to regain my senses. Deep breath. Think. I swing my leg up, clamber up so that my weight is spread across the top of the rock. I am numb to the pain, the fear, the possibilities. What is the difference now between me and a dumb animal struggling for its life? Nothing. Not a thing.

I crawl over the rock, lower myself down the other side. The water is icy, waist deep, but calmer beyond the first line of rocks. Where is she? Where is she? I wade forward, make the shoreline. Feel smooth round stones beneath my feet, moving on the tide, rolling over my bare feet, somehow the safest, friendliest feeling. Stones. Seaweed. Thick, rubbery kelp, tangling about me, and I’ve never felt so safe. The sea is saying goodbye. The sea won’t kill me. Not tonight.

I collapse on the shore, roll onto my back. Above me the cliff face offers a moment of shelter. I should stand. I should search, call out for her. I will. Soon. Soon. I make it as far as my knees, and I am vomiting. Salt water and stomach juice, whatever I’ve got. Have to stand up. Gotta stand. Then she’s there, beside me, kneeling. Leaning into me. Holding me tight. Sobbing, same as I am. We stay like that. We should move. I know we should move. She knows it too. We will, soon.

Sophie’s mouth is at my ear.

‘We made it,’ she whispers. It’s the sound of her voice that brings me to, kicks the world back in.

‘Not yet,’ I tell her. ‘There’s a ladder. They’ll be climbing down the ladder.’

I stand, take her hand, pull her up.

‘What do we do?’

‘Hide. Come on.’

We run on, stooped. Into the cave. A dumb place to choose. I know it. But I’m not thinking. It’s hidden, and sheltered, and I’m cold; killing cold. We’re both shivering. Pressed together. I look out the entrance. I can see where the ladder is. See the first of the torches making its way down.

‘You alright?’ I ask.

‘Yeah,’ she says. And then we’re silent.

There’s two or three of them. Two torches. Another stays at the top. We hear the shouting.

‘See anything?’

‘Check the rock pools. Even if they didn’t make it, the bodies’ll wash up.’

‘Shit, what’s that?’

Running, past us. I hunch down further, freeze.

‘Nah, just seaweed.’

‘Stay there. Keep looking.’

They’re close now. Two of them. Not Marcus, nor Lucinda. I can hear what they’re saying to each other.

‘Easy for him to say.’

‘What do you think happened to them?’

‘They’re fucked.’

‘Even if they made it, it’s too cold to last out in that.’

‘So where are they?’

‘We’re never going to find them with a couple of piddling little torches.’

From above again. It’s Marcus’s voice.

‘You see anything?’

‘What do you think?’

‘You looked everywhere?’

‘You want to come down here, do it yourself?’

No reply. Then, quietly:

‘Useless prick.’

‘Here, you got a smoke?’

They light up. It wafts in through the entrance. I taste it on the air. Imagine the warmth of it. I’m going to cough. They’ve got to move soon.

Lucinda’s voice, up with Marcus.

‘Check the cave. That’s where he’ll be, if he’s made it. You’ve got to check the cave. Right through to the back. Then come back up.’

Sophie squeezes my hand.

‘What do we do?’ she whispers.

I can see the beams of their torches, scanning over the water at the entranceway, looking for a dry passage in.

‘There’s another way out,’ I tell her.

‘At the back of the cave,’ I reply, remembering what Marcus told me. ‘There’s a shaft, all the way up to the tops. You can climb up.’

‘You think they’ll have someone waiting up there?’

‘You think we have a choice?’

Away from the entrance, the darkness thickens and space loses its meaning. There is nothing. No up, no down, no movement. I go first, one hand out in front, the other holding Sophie’s. I edge forward, centimetre at a time. There’s no other way of doing this. My body guides me. Hand, feet, shoulders. The sides of the cave crush in. A shaft of torchlight cuts across us like a sabre. Immediately we both crouch, hold our breath as it plays in the air above us. Then, darkness again. We move.

The roof is pressing down now, so that I am forced to stoop, upturned palms just above my head, tracing the dripping smooth contour. I can feel the weight of it, a whole world set on breaking me. But if there is a gap, if it has left me just one gap, I will find it.

My feet give away beneath me, and I am back in water. Deep enough for my head to go under. I float to the top, treading water. Sophie splashes in beside me. So black, so heavy. I can not explain the blackness.

‘What was that?’ The man’s voice bounces around us. I flinch, as if it might ricochet into me, take a chunk of flesh.

‘Up there. I heard something.’

We have no choice but to swim, and I’ve no idea if we’re running away now, or back towards our chasers. The torch comes again. Over our heads. Illuminates enough to see that ahead is a narrowing tunnel, no more than two metres across, three-quarters full of water. I strike out, while I can still see. The torch flickers off to the side.

‘See anything?’

The voices are closer.

‘I think there’s something down this way, behind this wall.’

The torch again, just behind the last outcrop. In a moment it will be on us. We both turn in the water, to stare back to where the men must soon appear. There is enough torchlight bouncing down off the ceiling for me to dimly make out Sophie’s face. She signals that we should dive below the water. I nod. Wait. One second more, two. The last thing I see is the torch light exploding through the blackness. I breathe in, drop. Sophie has my hand again. We crouch there, like two kids down at the town pool, locked in competition. I count it out. Time the seconds to the pounding of my heart. Set my goals. I see a narrow beam bend across the water, just above me. Twenty-three, twenty-four … I squeeze her hand. I feel her beginning to rise. It is too soon. I squeeze again, pull her down, even though I am terrified of blacking out. Sixty. I will make 60. We will make 60.

I let my breath out slowly, even though my lungs are screaming at me to hurry. Regulate the breath in, quiet as I can. Beside me Sophie does the same. The smell again. They haven’t moved. They’re waiting, and enjoying another cigarette. I wait for them to speak, but there is nothing. Are they listening for us? Do they know we’re here? Sophie grabs my shoulder. She pulls me forward in the water, to show that it gets shallower again. We can stand. Now I notice the pain, the aching in my legs. We have to get out of this water. Sophie’s warm mouth presses against my ear.

‘Feel that wind?’

She’s right. There’s a definite breeze, funnelling over us.

‘It must be the shaft,’ she whispers. ‘Come on.’

We wade forward through the darkness, bent double. It’s a struggle to keep my face out of the water. But Sophie is right. The wind is growing stronger. And with it the sound, air rushing past us. And faint though it is, I am beginning to make out shapes again. Somewhere up ahead, light is leaking in.

‘Here you go.’

We are at the end of the water. Ahead of us is a ledge. We will have to climb out and crawl forward on our bellies. Sophie goes first. There is no hesitating, no discussing. Our minds are fixed on a simple goal. Living. Difficult but not complicated. If she is right, this is not a dead end. Some time soon, the weight crushing down on my back, scraping my shoulders as I use my elbows to pull myself forward, will cease.

We reach the shaft, a vertical chimney in the rock, as high as the cliffs, of course. Sophie pulls herself up to standing. I do the same. There is barely room. I look up. All I can see is a white circle of sky. The cool air rushes down, washes over my face. I want to laugh, and cry, and hug her.

‘You alright?’ I ask. A stupid, pointless question. I can see her face now. Strange how familiar it seems.

‘I’ll go first,’ she smiles. ‘Catch me if I fall.’

Climbing up is the easy part. The rocks are friendly, providing solid footholds, and the chimney is narrow enough to reach out and touch any of the walls. We edge up, one small step at a time. They might be waiting, of course. Marcus knows where this comes out. There are other places though, where we might be. They can’t be guarding every possibility.

We make it to the top and there’s no one there. It’s the most brilliant feeling, the touch of grass. We scramble away from the hole, 20 metres, maybe more, then fall to our stomachs. I look back across to the lodge. The lights are on. From where we are we can easily slip across the fields into the darkness. Find a haybarn somewhere. Get warm. Sleep. We’re safe.

Until Sophie says: ‘There’s a computer in there right?’

‘The room, where you were when I found you.’

‘Yeah. Why?’

‘I have to get to it.’

‘Don’t be crazy.’

‘Pete, I trusted you jumping off that cliff. Now it’s your turn to trust me.’

‘It’s different,’ I tell her.

‘How? How is it different?’

‘We’re free now. We’re safe.’

‘You really believe that?’ she says.

‘Yeah. We can get back out across those paddocks.’

‘And do what?’

‘Find somewhere warm. Sleep. In the morning we’ll go to the police.’

It makes sense to me. In my head, my tired, freezing head, it sounds reasonable.

‘Pete, we don’t have much time. Last year PBs turned over more money than the entire New Zealand economy. Now imagine what a government might do to someone that could destroy the whole economy. I mean wipe half the value of the country out overnight. They’d break the rules. All PBs are doing is what they have to do. We’re at war with them.’

I don’t say anything. I’m drowning in denial. I’m not at war with anyone. I jumped over a counter and gave away a few burgers. That’s all I ever did. How’s that a declaration of war? What about the other world; the world of television microwave dinners, air-conditioning and Have a Nice Day? I want to live in that world. Why can’t that world be true? She takes my silence to be a challenge.

‘There’s a photo, Pete. They’ve got a photo of your sister, asleep in her Dunedin flat. Someone’s been in there. Stood over her with a camera. What do you think they’re planning to do next, if they think you’re not listening?’

‘No. That must be wrong. How do you know it was her?’

‘I’ve seen a photo of her.’

‘In your room.’

A lot of questions could spring from that, but we’re face down on the ground, soaking wet, and one of the world’s biggest companies wants us dead. Deep down I know it’s true. But I don’t want to know. I want Sophie to tell me it’s okay to run away. She can’t. Her voice is quiet and measured, like a surgeon explaining the options to a man who suddenly wishes he’d never touched a cigarette, or a burger, or helped himself to one more dessert.

‘For the past four years, PBs’ global sales have been falling. They’re used to being big and powerful but now the weight of their success is sinking them. They’re getting desperate. Lucinda is so wrong. It isn’t just a burger, it’s an empire. A big, bloated, collapsing empire, and it’s striking back. Look, you just have to trust me.’

She trusted me. She held my hand and leapt into the darkness. I look at her. It’s hard to tell in the dark, but I don’t think she’s even blinking. I wish it wasn’t like this. I wish I’d just stayed in that queue, kept my head down and my big mouth shut. Fuck.

She doesn’t stop.

‘I tracked down a story about a finance company in the US, they set it up to help farmers with their investments. Then they bankrupt it deliberately, the farmers lost their lives’ savings and were forced to sell the farms. Guess who bought them? It’s not just a little bit of rot, Pete, they’re rancid the whole way down.’

How can she know all this? She’s not normal. None of this is normal, even out here she stands out. I look at her, and I wonder what my friends would think. In the distance someone shouts out, I can’t hear what. We wait, hold our breaths. Nothing.

‘That’s why they’re so scared of you, of us,’ Sophie tells me. ‘They’ve got a lot to hide. But people don’t get what computers have done to the world. No one’s got any secrets any more. The world can’t go back to secrets. You can’t get there from here. People like you and me, we’ve got them running scared.’

There’s no doubt in my mind now. There’s no way of turning her back. This isn’t over.

‘But we can’t go to the police. They’re ready for that. They’ll say I’m a paranoid conspiracy theorist. And you’re bitter because you missed out on the scholarship.’

‘But there is no scholarship,’ I tell her, because I’m still stuggling here, to see just what it means to be that big, that powerful.

‘They have interviewed eight different teenagers and they’ve awarded four scholarships, just like they told your parents they would. Marcus and Lucinda are both on the payroll. It’s watertight. And even if the police were prepared to listen, there isn’t a scrap of information they’ll ever be able to find. Right now, they have their very best experts working on this, covering every electronic track. I know my computers, Pete. This is what I’m good at, but as soon as they found out last night that I existed, they will have been blocking my every move. And with all that money, how good do you think their lawyers are going to be?’

‘So why the fuck did you come here then?’ My anger takes me by surprise, but it’s a fair question.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Before you came, they wanted to give me money. Now they want to kill me.’

‘So you were just going to take the money?’ she asks.

‘I don’t know,’ I lie.

‘You started this,’ Sophie tells me. Her hair is wet and flat and sticks in clumps to her white scalp. She looks younger this way, and fiercer too. But not fierce enough to match them, is what I think.

‘How did I start it?’

‘When you jumped up on that counter, you broke their rules. No one knows how powerful these people are, no one even knows they’re there, until you break their rules.’

‘So we’re screwed then?’

‘We’ve got one last shot.’

I like the way she says that. Blame television. The trouble I’m in right at this moment is bigger and uglier than all the rest of the trouble in my life so far combined, and I still find myself thinking that it’s sort of cool the way she says that. I need help. Why aren’t I just running away? One last shot.

‘What is it?’

‘Before I came out here I set my computer running on an encryption buster. Everything I’ve told you, I’ve collected files for. I’ve been in amongst their records and until last night, they had no idea I was there. I’ve stripped out enough information to destroy them, almost. And, the important thing is, I’m not alone. I’m working with someone else.’

‘A journalist. With connections. I found her on a website. She was already researching this stuff. She’s for real. A big English paper. Only she can’t print it. Her editor will never run a story against someone like PBs unless they’re a hundred percent. So she’s waiting for a last detail, the password to a bank account, so she can confirm the link to the organisations they use as a front. I don’t have the name but I know where to find it. It’s sitting there on an old file they think they’ve erased, but I need to break the encryption. I’m hoping it’s already done. I have to get on the internet and hook up with the computer I’m using. And I have to do it before they trace the hack back to my terminal and close me down. Now they know I exist, it won’t take them long. It’s not my home computer, don’t worry. They will have already got Father Dear to set light to that. I’m using one at school, and I’ve scrambled the login route, used a free provider so there’s no ID details, and tangled the path as much as I can. It’ll take them a while, no matter how good they are. But they will find it. I need to get back into that file and I need to find that name and send it through. Before they find me. It’s a race, Pete. We might have already lost it. I don’t know. But we have to get to that computer. You have to help me.’

‘But if they catch us …’ I don’t have to finish that sentence. She looks at me. She’s as scared as I am, and in the weird way of being human, that makes me feel suddenly braver. ‘Okay, let’s try.’ ‘I knew you’d say that,’ she smiles. ‘You’re a hero, Pete. You’re my hero.’

You want to know something about being a hero? It’s seriously overrated.

Getting back in is the easy part. They’re all still outside looking for us. Torches flicker on/off at the top of the cliff. Their shouting carries in snatches on the wind. We circle around to the back, then hug the building, cautiously checking every door. The first to open takes us into an industrial kitchen. Light from the room next door spills in through a half open door. Knives and whisks and colanders hang from a central bar over a stainless steel bench. The floor smells of disinfectant, the bins have been emptied; not a wayward scrap of food or smear of oil has survived the end-of-shift scrub down. A proud room, quietly awaiting its next challenge. Just the sort of kitchen you need to meet the cultured tastes of the men and women who force-feed the world its burgers. We slip through quietly, Sophie leading, me half a step behind. She stops at the doorway, looks out into the carpeted corridor beyond. I close up behind her.

‘Which way?’ she whispers.

I don’t know, but point left. She skips lightly on, and again, I follow. She freezes. I listen hard, hear nothing but my heart. She turns and pushes me back, all the way to the kitchen. We crouch in front of an oven and wait. She’s right, there’s someone coming. A door opens. Footsteps in the corridor. Marcus’s voice. He’s talking on a phone.

‘No, it’s alright,’ he tells the other end. ‘I know what Frank told you… No, listen to me… I said I’m aware of that. But just because he told you that doesn’t necessarily make it so… Well answer me this then. Why did we set up … No, no I didn’t…. See, you and I both know that’s a lie… No, Frank wasn’t there. Jesus, will you listen to me for a moment?… Okay, well look, it isn’t going to be an issue is it? Yeah, do. Tomorrow morning. The earlier the better. By then it’ll be sorted. Yes, you have my word.’

We hear the release of breath. I imagine him running his hand over his short hair. He walks off. I hear the same door opening, and him shouting out, ‘Lucinda! Lucinda, that was Holly.’

Then the door closes.

Sophie moves again. Quicker this time. We round a bend in the corridor and I recognise the foyer.

‘Through there, left, second door.’

A door. A single door. On the other side is a room. And in that room there’s either someone waiting or there isn’t. And standing on this side, even with an ear against it, the way Sophie has, there’s no way of knowing which is true. Schrödinger’s cat, but it’s not the cat that might die. It’s us. The observers. The openers of doors. Sophie looks at me, asking for permission to do what has to be done. I nod.

Sophie goes straight for the keyboard. I check the other rooms. Then I stand nervously in the middle of the lounge, feeling useless. Like a blindfolded man on a firing range. Just waiting. The way we all are.

‘How long will it take?’

‘Dunno. Computer’s still up though. Excellent.’

‘Has it broken the encryption?’

‘Don’t talk.’

I hover. I can see it’s annoying her. But what else am I meant to do?

‘Go and wait at the door. Make sure there’s no one coming.’

‘And if there is?’

‘Stall them.’

I open the door just a crack, peer out it into the corridor. It helps, to have a job. Behind me I can hear Sophie tapping away, muttering to herself, commentating on her progress. I can’t tell if it’s good news or bad.

The approaching footsteps are less ambiguous. I shut the door. Sophie looks up.

‘Someone’s coming.’

She stares at me, like I’m meant to offer something more. She says, ‘I need more time.’

Bravery is something I admire in other people, but I wouldn’t ever choose it for myself. Cowards get to stand in the back row, at the funerals of heroes. But desperation’s different from bravery. There should be no medals for bravery in situations where the person had no choice. I have no choice.

I leave her at the keyboard, saving the world, and I burst out of that doorway, run straight bang into a Lucinda-ful of surprise, knock her on her arse and keep right on running. She’s up very quickly, chasing and screaming, and leaving Sophie well alone. I make the front door and am on to the gravel before the first of the torches comes running at me.

I’m not a sportsman. And even if I was, I’m exhausted. There’s no point hoping to outrun them. So I think laterally, stand still to conserve energy. Wait until she’s almost on me, jump away. Step a man I do not recognise, who has dropped his torch to free his hands; run straight at a second, swerve at the last moment, and head for the shed, because it’s close. Marcus comes out of nowhere, dives at my legs just before I make the building, doesn’t miss, takes me to the ground.

He’s strong, or I’m empty, because I try to fight back and it doesn’t seem to worry him. He picks me up by the shoulders, slams my back against the door. Torchlight shines into my face. Behind it three figures clump into a single shadow.

‘So you made the jump?’ Lucinda says. She isn’t trying to be friendly about it. We’re past pretending. I spit in her face, just to be sure she understands. Marcus tightens his grip on me. Like I could hurt any more.

‘Where’s the other one then?’ Lucinda asks. ‘What happened to your little girlfriend?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Bullshit.’

I stare back, say nothing. In my head the seconds tick on by. Every one of them a gift for Sophie.

‘We’ll find her too.’

‘No you won’t.’

‘So you do know where she is?’

‘What were you doing coming back here?’ Marcus asks. He’s not stupid, Marcus. It’d be easier to like him, if he was.

‘I was getting clothes,’ I tell him. ‘I have to get warm.’

‘She’ll be cold too then, Pete,’ Lucinda tells me. ‘She won’t make it to the morning, if we don’t get some clothes to her. You have to tell us where she is.’

‘I don’t know where she is.’

Lucinda leans forward and her face is caught in the torchlight. She’s an ugly woman, Lucinda. Cold, dangerous, ugly. Always has been, I suppose, but we see what we want to see. See what we think we’re seeing. Now I see her, and hate her, and want to watch her burn.

‘You’re a stupid little boy, Pete. We could have saved you, you know.’

‘I don’t want saving,’ I tell her.

‘Your funeral,’ she replies. ‘Come on, it’s cold out here. We’ll take him inside.’

‘I’ll tell you where she is!’ I blurt. Every second counts now.

‘Where?’ Marcus asks, and I’m about to tell them my lie, that I left her in the cave, but Lucinda’s a step ahead of me.

‘He doesn’t want us to go inside. That’s where she is. That’s why he came running out. He was trying to save her. Quick. Quick!’

Marcus grabs me by the neck and propels me forward. I stumble on, trying to resist, but somehow we’re keeping pace with the others.

‘Stay out here,’ Lucinda orders one of the men, when we reach the lodge. ‘Danny, you guard the back.’

So it’s just the three of us again, Lucinda on one side, Marcus on the other, walking down the corridor, just like the old days. Lucinda goes in first, slams the door back, trying to look powerful I suppose. Marcus has me by the neck, and throws me into the room. I look up from the floor, see Sophie still sitting there, in front of the keyboard. On the wall the screen flicks to black. I search Sophie’s eyes for a clue.

‘Hello, Sophie.’

Nothing, not even a blink, from either of them.

‘What have you been doing? Trying to get your daddy to help you out? Welcome to the real world little girl. Daddy’s not going to be much use to you here.’

Sophie looks Lucinda straight in the eyes. Her clothes might be wet and her hands might be shaking, but when she smiles I know exactly where all the power in this room has clumped. I turn back to Marcus and Lucinda and they can sense it too. No one speaks. I stand slowly, walk to the side of the room, for a better view.

‘Welcome back,’ Sophie finally says. ‘How does it feel to lose?’

‘You’re not getting away. I don’t care what you think you’ve done. In three hours other people will be here, and then you’re not our problem, either of you. Marcus, tie her up first.’

Marcus doesn’t move. He knows there’s more. Sophie calls the bluff with her smile.

‘I want to tell you guys a little story, before we break out the ropes again. It’s about a god who fell to earth, and he didn’t cope so well. You know what I love about old people like you? You made this world for us, but you don’t understand it. A hotmail account! What were you thinking when you left Pete’s dad a hotmail account? And Marcus, sorry but I have to blame you here, why exactly did you think it might be a good idea to use the same password for your work account? Why not just break into my house at night and leave a little parcel on my pillow containing all your darkest secrets?’

‘You’re full of shit.’

‘I know there’s more to it than the research programme.’

Sophie spits it out quickly, words like bullets, pinning the aggressors down.

‘I know how Herb Stantiall died. I know about a meeting between Holly Ford and the head of the UGrow corporation, and I know the name of the account set up by the UGrow subsidiary where the first payments were made. I even have the names of the people who set that account up.’

‘So?’ Lucinda bluffs, but I’ve seen that look before. The eyes darting to Marcus’s, that desperate little call for help.

‘So, I’m just a little girl Lucinda, who’s going to listen to me? But have you heard of Michelle Stephens? She’s the London journalist who covered your libel trials in ’ninety-eight and has been after you ever since. And here’s the funny thing, Lucinda, now she knows everything I know. Every link, every detail. I copied them all across, and I’ve hidden them in places you’ll never find. And she’s got them too.’

Lucinda steps forward. Sophie doesn’t move. I’m still scared. I like so many things about Sophie, I like the way she talks at them, I like the way she thinks she’s bullet proof, but that’s not the same as believing in her. I can think of so many good reasons to hate Lucinda, but I do believe in her. Even now, seeing her this shaken, I still believe she’ll find a way of crushing Sophie, crushing us both. All I can do is watch. And hope I’m wrong.

Lucinda starts a slow, sarcastic clap.

‘Well done, Sophie. All very clever. But even if you’re right, even if there is some story that’s going to be run – and trust me, I’m sure we can find ways of stopping it from ever going to print – it still doesn’t get around the fact that you’re here, with us, and while a few moments ago the people I work for might have wanted to kill you to keep you from talking, now it’s going to be just punishment. So what’s the reason for that stupid big smile on your face again?’

My question too, actually. There’s something throat-dryingly terrifying, hearing someone discuss your death. Sophie though, doesn’t seem at all concerned.

‘I’m smiling, Lucinda,’ she replies, not missing a beat, ‘because you and Marcus are going to get us out of here.’

‘And why would we do that?’

‘Because you’re heroes, both of you,’ Sophie says, and I still don’t see it coming.

‘See, tomorrow morning, when this story makes the news, all over the world I should say, you’re going to be household names, both of you. You didn’t think a renowned journalist would take much notice of a little girl did you? But she did take notice of the emails she got from two high level PBs employees. That was the biggest bonus of having access to both your accounts. I simply became you. You’re world famous whistleblowers now: Marcus and Lucinda, the ethical face of the corporate world. I should think they’ll want you to go on Oprah. One day, they might even make a film about you. Two young, attractive industrial psychologists who are asked to brainwash a brave young boy, but are hit by a wave of conscience, and at great risk to themselves, steal classified electronic information and pass it on to a British journalist. Oh, they’ll run it alright. It’s too good a story not to. She offered you money for the information by the way, but well, you felt you had to turn it down.

‘What’s wrong? Not so big now are you? Look on the bright side. Your bosses aren’t going to be happy, and I don’t suppose you’ll ever get to work in the industry again, but think of the fame. Think of the glory. Doesn’t it just feel so much better, knowing you did the right thing? You’re my heroes, both of you. You truly are.’

I had a drama teacher whose favourite saying was ‘Silence speaks, let the silence speak!’ He had a lisp and we all took the piss, of course, but it turns out he was right. Silence, big, gobsmacking silence, shouts out all through that room. I watch their faces and it’s like some sort of sci-fi movie; they’re literally melting away before my eyes. Indestructible Marcus, immovable Lucinda, gone forever. I look at Sophie, and see the way the same silence polishes her white face, brings sparkle to her eyes.

I’m cold. So very wet and cold. I walk into my room and get a sweatshirt, and no one tries to stop me. They can’t. There isn’t a thing they can do. It’s just so brilliant. I bring out a top for Sophie too, and the rest of my gear, packed into a bag. Lucinda and Marcus are still standing there.

‘Don’t suppose I could borrow your car keys, Marcus,’ I try. ‘I’d like to go home now.’

‘So walk,’ he snarls.

‘That’s not very nice,’ I reply.

‘A walk’ll do just fine,’ Sophie tells me, taking me by the arm and guiding me to the door. I look back just as the first tear crests Lucinda’s cheekbone, and is drawn inevitably downwards.

And I don’t know why I do it, or what it means, that I should wave goodbye the way I do. I just know it feels right.