Paterson slowly opened the door and looked out. Mona watched as the back of his head swivelled left, then right.
‘I think we’re OK. Ready for some heavy lifting?’
They grabbed an arm each and put it round their neck.
‘He’s a deadweight, Guv, and both you and the professor are a foot taller than I am. Is this going to work?’
‘We don’t have a lot of choice.’ He pushed the door open with his foot, and narrowly missed hitting a passing member of staff.
‘Oh.’ She looked at them in surprise. She was a small woman, in a smart, dark trouser suit which had a shiny badge pinned to its lapel, pronouncing her to be ‘Robina’.
‘Sorry,’ said Paterson, ‘but my dad here has had a funny turn.’
Robina looked concerned. ‘Do you need an ambulance?’
‘No, no. He has these turns quite regularly. My son’s picking us up in the car from the back door, we’re just struggling to get him there.’
‘Oh I see.’ She frowned. ‘Would you like to borrow a wheelchair?’
‘You have a wheelchair?’
‘Of course!’ She looked delighted at the chance to help. ‘Just give me two minutes.’ She disappeared through a door marked staff only.
Paterson winked at Mona. ‘Sorted.’
‘Can we put him down, Guv, or at least lean him against the wall? My back is killing me.’
‘Let’s prop him up.’
A metallic voice came over the store’s intercom. ‘Can we have a wheelchair to the disabled toilet on the fourth floor, please?’
They looked at each other. ‘If I was methodically checking out the shops on the High Street, that announcement would pique my interest,’ said Mona.
‘Crap. I’ll hold him. You summon the lift for a quick getaway.’
The staff only door opened again, and Robina reappeared. ‘They usually only take a minute or two.’
‘Great. Really, can’t thank you enough.’ Paterson’s eyes were scanning the shop as he spoke.
The lift doors opened, revealing an elderly black security guard and a sturdy leather wheelchair. Mona thought she’d never seen a more welcome sight. She stuck her foot into the lift to stop it from closing. The security guard raised his eyebrows. ‘That’s not good for the lift.’
‘Sorry, just keen to get him out of here and into the fresh air.’
Robina took control of the wheelchair. ‘I’ll pop the brakes on while you manoeuvre him in.’
‘Thank you so, so much.’
The professor was lowered into the seat with more speed than grace. His head lolled forward, and his arms fell limply over the sides of the seat. Mona was trying to make him more comfortable, when a prolonged burst of coughing came from Paterson. Amongst the expectoration she thought she heard the word ‘beard’. She looked out across the store, and sure enough, the bearded man she had seen in the car outside Maria’s house was watching them from behind a row of kid’s t-shirts. To make matters worse, he was on his phone.
‘So, it was the back door that you wanted?’ asked Robina, rather more loudly than either of them would have liked.
‘Yes,’ said Paterson. ‘Maybe you could show us out.’
‘Of course!’
The three of them, and the security guard, all got into the lift. Mona would have killed for two minutes alone with her boss in order to plan what they needed to do. As it was, all they could do was exchange glances, while Robina chatted.
‘And are those Scottish accents I hear? Do you live down here?’
‘No, just visiting for a few days.’
‘Oh dear, I hope your dad taking ill doesn’t spoil your break.’
‘We’d all be much happier if he was fighting fit. We really would.’
The lift pinged open. They stood for a moment, half-expecting the other man from the car to be standing there. Paterson pushed the professor slowly out into the shop, then stopped abruptly. ‘Mona, why don’t you steer?’
She saw the familiar figure of the other man from the car, and took control of the wheelchair. ‘Which way to the back door?’
‘Left,’ said Robina. ‘Follow me.’
She wheeled the professor toward the exit, aware that Paterson was no longer at her side. Glancing back, she saw him deep in conversation with the security guard, gesturing discreetly in the direction of the man they were trying to avoid. She suppressed a smile. Paterson would be drawing his attention to some shoplifting that was taking place. Any minute now the man from the car was going to be marched off to the manager’s office to explain himself.
Her good humour evaporated as she spotted the man with the beard loitering by the back door. He was holding something black in his hand at hip height. She stopped in shock, then realised. Not gun, phone. The Guv was right, they didn’t want the professor dead, they wanted footage.
‘Robina, could you take him for a second?’
‘Of course.’
Mona made as if to push open the door, as a pretext for putting her body in between the professor and the lens.
‘It’s an automatic door, you don’t need to do that.’
‘Oh, OK.’ She stepped backwards, so far into the man’s personal space that anyone else would have complained. He neither moved nor spoke. As soon as Robina’s back disappeared through the door she turned to face him. He didn’t catch her eye but turned and walked away, as slowly and calmly as if he’d just popped in for a quick shop.
‘What’s going on?’ Paterson.
‘That was Mr Beard – with a camera. Did you get rid of the other one?’
‘Emptying out his pockets in the manager’s office.’
‘Is this your car?’ Robina called to them.
‘You take charge of him,’ said Paterson. ‘I’m on paparazzi duty.’
She went outside and was relieved to see Greg standing by a large, dark car.
‘Can you get Grandad into the car?’
He glanced at Robina, and nodded. ‘You take one arm, I’ll get the other.’
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ asked Robina.
‘No, we’ve got this.’
After a lengthy period of pushing and pulling, the professor was finally sat upright in the middle of the back seat, Mona and a seat belt keeping him vertical. She leaned back out of the car. ‘Robina, thank you so much for your help.’
‘No problem. I do hope your grandad’s OK.’
Paterson appeared and dived into the car. ‘Time to go.’ Greg started the car moving before he even had the door shut. ‘Thanks again, Robina,’ he shouted through the remaining crack in the door.
She gave a slightly confused wave after them. As they pulled away there was a flash from across the street.
‘Did someone take a picture?’ Greg asked.
‘I think it was a traffic camera,’ said Mona, twisting round to look. ‘You were parked in a loading bay. I hope you don’t get a ticket.’
‘He’ll be paying if I do.’ He jerked a thumb in the direction of his dad. ‘Anyway, what happened in there?’
‘As I said on the phone, someone got to the prof here, and we encountered a couple of less than friendly sorts in the children’s department.’
‘Who’s behind all this?’
‘We don’t know.’
Greg’s expression in the mirror was pure scepticism. ‘Really, Dad? Not a clue?’
‘No! We’ve been sent down here without any of the information we actually need to keep him safe.’
There was a moment or two’s tense silence.
‘Do you think they got any useable footage, Guv?’
‘Hard to tell,’ he said. ‘They’ll have some hilarious footage of an old man being manhandled into a car, but they’re going to have a job confirming that it’s him.’
They both looked at the professor in his sunglasses and hat. He looked ridiculous, but also unrecognisable.
Greg indicated right and turned onto a multi-lane dual carriageway.
‘Where are we going, son?’
‘Call me Greg. I don’t need a constant reminder of our relationship.’
Paterson looked both hurt and irritated. ‘Where are we going, Greg?’
There was a pause before Greg grudgingly shared the information. ‘We’re visiting a friend of mine who’s a nurse. She’ll give him the once-over and tell you if he should go to hospital, or if you just need to find somewhere for him to sleep it off.’
Paterson looked out the back window of the car. ‘You’ll make sure we’re not followed?’
‘I do know how these things work, Dad. This is my job, after all. And it’s a job that I’d like to keep, so can you make this the last favour that you ask for?’
‘Yes, of course.’ There was a wounded tone to Paterson’s voice that Mona recognised only too well. ‘Wouldn’t want to impose.’
Greg tutted but said nothing, and the silence stretched on uncomfortably. It reminded Mona of being in the car with Bernard. Until she’d been partnered with Bernard she’d been unaware of the many different shades of silence that existed. There was companionable silence, the best sort, and to be fair, much of the silence she shared with her partner was harmonious. But there was also wounded silence, when she’d said something that offended his core beliefs, like saying that the Daily Mail might have a point from time to time. Then there was needy silence, when Bernard thought he had offended her, but couldn’t think of anything to say. And she’d take any of those over Bernard’s attempts to get her views on his current marital problems.
But right now, an in-depth dissection of the ins and outs of Bernard’s relationship would seem like light relief compared to the toxic silence in the car. She looked out the window and yawned. Her late night was catching up with her, and between the heat and the motion of the car she could feel her eyes closing. She dug her cardigan out of her bag, rolled it into a ball, and propped it up against the car door, using it as a makeshift pillow. Within minutes she slipped into a restless sleep. She was half in a dream, vaguely aware still of the sounds of the traffic, but also with a sense of being pursued by something nameless but bad. She woke up as the car ground to a halt.
‘We’re here.’ Greg twisted round in his seat. ‘Time to liven up.’
Mona stretched and stared out the window at her surroundings. They were in the middle of a housing estate. On both sides of the road, grass sloped down to a series of red sandstone multi-storey blocks. Bookending the blocks there were stairwells, and each block had outside balconies that ran the length of the building.
‘Does your friend by any chance live on the ground floor?’ she asked.
He smiled. ‘Liz lives on the third. Sorry.’ He looked suddenly serious. ‘And it goes without saying that if this goes wrong we keep Liz’s name out of this, OK? She’s going out on a limb for us.’
‘Totally.’ Mona nodded. ‘We were never here.’
‘Or,’ said Paterson, ‘if we were here, your friend had no idea why.’
‘I preferred the “you were never here”. In fact, I really wish you weren’t here, but we are where we are.’ Greg started the car again. ‘Right. I’ll get you as close as I can to the stairwell, then you two get him out while I go and park.’
Five minutes later the four of them stood at the foot of the multiple floors of concrete stairs, three of them contemplating the difficulties of their task.
‘If we drag him up there, Guv, he’ll have broken ankles by the time we reach the first floor.’
The sound of approaching footsteps stopped him from responding. Two black women in full African dress appeared, one holding a baby and the other dragging a toddler by the hand. The two women nodded as they went past, and the toddler eyed them with suspicion, twisting round to stare at them as his mother pulled him out of the building.
‘Sod it. It’s not going to be discreet, but we’ll have to carry him up like a big sack of spuds. You get his head, son – I mean Greg – and I’ll take his feet.’
The two of them manoeuvred the professor into a portable position, and started up the steps.
‘Easy now,’ said Paterson.
Mona had to clasp a hand to her mouth to catch her laughter, as a memory of Maria’s builders and the bath came into her mind. She doubted Paterson was equally concerned about not scraping his cargo on the paintwork.
‘Can you knock on that one, please?’ Greg pointed to a blue door with a pot plant at its side. Mona obliged, and after a second or two it was answered by a young woman in jeans, who yawned then apologised.
‘Sorry, I was on a late shift. I’ve not been up long.’
‘Please don’t apologise,’ said Paterson, setting down the professor’s feet. ‘We’re really grateful you can help.’
She opened the door wide. ‘Come through to the living room and I’ll have a look at him.’ There was an accent of some sort – from Australia or perhaps New Zealand.
They placed the professor as gently as possible into an armchair, and Liz knelt at his side. She pushed up the professor’s jacket sleeve and held his bony wrist between her thumb and forefinger. She listened for a minute, her eyes on her watch. ‘His pulse is normal.’
She picked up what Mona thought was a pen from her bag, and twisted it until a weak light shone out. She lifted each of the professor’s eyelids in turn and shone the torch into them. ‘Pupils are dilating normally.’
Dipping into the bag again she produced a thermo-meter. After holding it in the professor’s ear for a couple of seconds, she pronounced that his temperature was also well within the acceptable range.
She dropped the thermometer back into her bag, zipped it up and sat back on her heels. ‘I’m not seeing anything that indicates that he is in distress, so my guess is that he’s been given a sedative, nothing stronger . . .’
‘So, he’s OK then?’
‘I’m not saying that.’ She held up a hand. ‘As a health professional, I would have to advise you to get him into a hospital for a blood test, and find out conclusively what’s in his system, and at what dose.’
Paterson stared at the professor, his face betraying an agony of indecision. His gaze moved to Mona. ‘I need to speak to Stuttle.’ He pulled his phone out of his pocket.
‘Mobile, Guv? Is that a good idea?’
He stopped, his finger hovering over the phone. ‘No, probably not. Liz, could we impose even further and borrow your phone?’
She nodded. ‘Sure. It’s in the hall. I’ll show you.’
Greg looked less than pleased. ‘You shouldn’t be involving Liz in this.’
‘It’s just a phone call, Greg. It’s fine.’
‘It’s not fine.’ He went to follow them, then paused at the door and pointed at the sofa. ‘You might as well sit down while you wait. I’ll get you a tea or coffee in a minute.’
Mona wondered about his relationship with Liz. A friend, or girlfriend? He certainly seemed at home in her flat, right down to the offer of hospitality. She looked around the room again. It was small, crammed full of furniture, books and plants. Could anyone make a room this welcoming, or did Liz have a special gift? The sunlight streaming in helped, undoubtedly. Maybe she’d try a few pot plants in her place when she got home, or a brightly coloured rug.
Today’s paper was lying on the coffee table. She glanced at the lead story – the Mayor of London had promised again to improve the Green Card entry system that was apparently causing havoc at rush hour on the Tube – and picked it up to flick through. As she did so, she noticed a small pile of leaflets lying underneath it. She peeled one off the top and started to read.
Why Everything You Know About Virus Policy is Wrong
An interesting title. She read on.
Current Virus restrictions are not sufficient to control its spread. Front-line health workers are constantly put at risk by the monthly Health Check regime . . .
The leaflet developed its argument using fairly scientific language before concluding that it was ‘time to think the unthinkable’, without specifying what this unthinkable thought might be. She wondered who the leaflet was aimed at; it was too technical to be aimed at the general public. She turned it over, and at the bottom of the page found a box saying the leaflet was published by the Health Workers’ Collective.
Paterson reappeared, closing the door behind him. He lowered his voice. ‘That wasn’t very reassuring.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, I stupidly thought that when I told Stuttle about today’s events he would have some contingency arrangements for getting us out of here. I thought maybe he’d been a bit economical with the truth when he dispatched us down here, and hadn’t bothered to mention that we weren’t the only ones who might be looking for the prof. But I got the impression I had taken him completely by surprise. In fact,’ he rapped on the table to emphasise his point, ‘I got the impression he was shitting himself.’
‘Really? So what do we do now?’
‘Stuttle says that we’re to stay here and await further instructions.’
‘So, no hospital? Guv, what if he does take ill?’
‘Then it will be Stuttle’s problem.’
‘Based on one phone call, which he can conveniently forget happened if we get into trouble?’ Both their voices were getting quieter, but more forceful.
‘Yes, but the problem is if I do the opposite of what he’s instructed, he’s going to have a hundred per cent recall of what he said.’
‘Except, of course, we’re technically on holiday.’
‘I’m taking responsibility for this one, Mona.’
Greg and Liz reappeared. From the flushed complexions on both of them she guessed they had been having their own quiet but forceful argument in the hall.
‘We’ve been asked to stay put until we hear from my boss. Would it be OK to hang on here for a while?’
‘Absolutely not.’ Greg’s already colourful cheeks were turning purple. ‘We agreed that Liz would give him a quick once-over and then he’d be out of here.’ He turned to her. ‘I should never have involved you.’
Liz looked considerably calmer. ‘It’s OK, Greg. He can stay.’
‘That’s very kind of—’
‘Shut up, Dad!’ Greg looked apoplectic. Mona was again struck by the family resemblance. They seemed to look most alike when they were furious, right down to the same throbbing vein in each of their temples. ‘Liz, this is not your problem. You don’t have to let some random stranger stay here just because you want to be helpful.’
‘Except he’s not a random stranger, is he? He’s Professor Alexander Bircham-Fowler.’
‘You know him?’ asked Mona, surprised. She knew the professor was never off the news in Scotland, but was unaware that he was particularly well known in England.
‘Oh, yeah. He’s a world authority on the Virus. My friends and I have a lot of time for his views.’
‘Friends?’ Greg spat the word out. ‘Those bloody communists from work, you mean? The lefties with the banners, and the websites full of nonsense?’
‘The words you are looking for are “trade unionists”.’
‘Same difference.’
The two of them glared at each other. Greg looked away first.
‘Fine. Do what you like. But I want it on record that I think this is a bad idea.’
Liz turned to them. ‘Do you want to make him comfortable on my bed?’
Paterson walked over to the professor’s chair. Greg didn’t move, and the other three stared at him. Eventually he snapped. ‘Oh for God’s sake. Come on then, Dad.’
The professor moved, Paterson reappeared and closed the door firmly behind him.
‘Bit of a discussion going on in the hall.’
‘I can imagine.’
‘Stroke of luck her being a fan of the professor.’
‘I think she’s quite politically engaged. See this.’ Mona handed him one of the leaflets. ‘Shame it provoked a lover’s tiff, though.’
Paterson ignored the leaflet. ‘Lover’s tiff? You think they’re an item?’ A grin spread across his face.
‘I just assumed so. Don’t you know?’
Paterson shrugged.
‘Before we came down here, when did you last speak to Greg?’
He mumbled something that could have been ‘Christmas’.
‘What was that?’
‘December.’
‘Oh. As in last Christmas?’
‘As in Christmas two years ago. Anyway, if she is his girlfriend, he’s done well. The face he’s got on him it’s a wonder any woman would look twice.’
‘And there was me noticing a strong family resemblance.’
The front door slammed so hard that the whole flat rattled.
‘Anyway, Guv, back to the matter of the prof. We’re running out of time. We need him at that Health Check by noon tomorrow. We can’t get an unconscious man onto a plane, even if we had his ID and Green Card. Without the Green Card we can’t even get him on a train.’
‘I made all these points on the phone to Stuttle.’
‘And even aside from his immediate health issues, I’m not sure we can keep him safe. We don’t know who these people are who are looking for him, or what they want with him, or with us. Shouldn’t we be involving the Met?’
‘Again, I made that point to Stuttle, and he was adamant that we were not to involve the police. So, not a whisper of Greg’s involvement once we get back.’
‘Guv, I really don’t like this.’
‘I said as much to Stuttle . . .’ There was a sound of ringing from the hall. ‘And I bet that’s him. We must have mentioned his name once too often. Beelzebub, Beelzebub, Beelzebub, and here he is in a puff of sulphur.’
‘I think a puff of Hugo Boss aftershave is more Mr Stuttle’s style.’
Liz appeared in the doorway, phone in hand. ‘It’s for you.’
‘Sorry. Thanks.’ Paterson took the phone, and disappeared back into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind him.
‘I’ll stick the kettle on,’ said Liz.
Mona followed her into the kitchen. ‘Where’s your accent from?’
‘Same place as the rest of me: Auckland, New Zealand. Are you from the same part of Scotland as Greg?’
She nodded. ‘Edinburgh.’
Paterson appeared. ‘That was Stuttle.’
‘He pulled in those favours in extra quick time.’
‘He’s got a vault’s worth of favours to draw on, as we know to our cost. Anyway, he’s sending a guy with a car.’
A thought occurred to Mona. ‘What do we do about Theresa, Guv? We can’t just leave her down here.’
Paterson snorted. ‘A delicate flower like Mrs Kilsyth? How on earth would she cope? It would be good to check she’s OK, but I really don’t want to use our mobile or hers.’
‘She might still be at Maria’s, if we could find a landline?’
‘Can I borrow your phone one last time?’
‘Of course. You know where it is.’
Mona sipped her tea. ‘I still can’t get over you knowing the professor.’
‘Is he in danger?’
‘We hope not,’ said Mona, slightly evasively. Much as she liked Liz, she wasn’t clear enough where her loyalties lay to confide any of their concerns in her. ‘We’re trying to keep his visit to London quiet . . .’
‘And you’d like me not to mention he was here?’
She nodded. ‘Is that OK?’
‘Sure, if it helps Professor Bircham-Fowler.’
‘Success!’ Paterson came in smiling. ‘Directory enquiries came up trumps. She’s still at Bircham-Fowler’s daughter’s place. I think she’s been telling Maria everything that’s happened over the past twenty years; she sounded high as a kite. Anyway Maria is going to drive her to the airport and try to get her on the next flight back to Edinburgh.’
‘Do you think she’ll be OK, Guv?’
‘Let’s hope so.’
‘Did you tell her about the professor?’
‘Are you kidding?’ Paterson grinned. ‘I’ll tell her all about our adventures once his nibs is safely delivered to his Health Check and standing up to give his speech in Parliament.’
Mona couldn’t help but think they were some way off that.