29

The following evening saw me sitting at the kitchen table, leafing through a copy of the Morning Star’s thick Sunday edition. Despite its length, there was little in it: a long article about one Louise Archer, the mother of six children who was being lionized by the state as our own Stakhanov, explaining how easy and pleasant she found it cooking for a family of eight; and below it a warning to expect the heaviest smog of the year. There was still no mention of Lorelei, and I supposed that there never would be now.

Nick had just returned from spending the day in Waltham Forest with Hazel. She was still crying from time to time, but it had been almost a week, so I thought and hoped that she was over the worst. During six years of war as a country, we had got used to swallowing down our grief, so, sad to say, Hazel’s experience was far from unusual. She had asked if I could come out with them, which was touching, and I wished I could, but I knew Nick wanted to be alone with her.

The telephone rang. When I went to answer it, however, a tinny voice was already speaking – Nick must have picked it up on the extension line in his study. The voice was too distant and hollowed out by the line for me to recognize it, and I was about to hang up when I caught a few words: ‘… and how is your wife?’ They made me pause.

‘She’s bearing up. Things have been … difficult for her,’ Nick replied. I lifted the receiver back to my ear, placing my palm across the mouthpiece to deaden it.

‘I’m sure they have.’

Who was this person, asking about me? I tried to work it out, but couldn’t even tell for sure if it was male or female. Probably male.

‘If she had started turning things upside down, it would have made it all ten times worse.’ Nick was keeping his voice down, but sounded disturbed. ‘She hasn’t mentioned anything so I won’t bring it up.’

‘That’s probably for the best. Do you think she knows?’

Nick sighed. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘But she might.’

‘Yes. She might. I’ll do my best to prevent that.’

‘This is all more dangerous now. I’m not sure we’re going about it the right way.’

‘Don’t worry. You’re always worrying,’ said Nick, with more than a hint of irritation in his voice.

‘Citizen Informants.’

‘Oh, don’t be bloody stupid.’ There was a pause.

‘Can you get more norethisterone?’ the voice asked.

‘Yes. I knew we would need more. That’s good. But I don’t want to talk about this on the telephone. Meet me there in an hour.’

‘All right.’

‘I could have put it to good use before, though,’ Nick added, thoughtfully.

‘How?’

‘If I had had it before, Lorelei wouldn’t have ended up like she did.’

‘Yes, that’s true.’ The line crackled. ‘Who do you think killed her?’

‘Who can say?’ He paused. ‘But we can’t let it distract us right now. The norethisterone. I found someone to test it.’

‘A patient?’ the voice asked.

‘A private patient.’

‘What was the outcome?’

‘It works as predicted. Now it’s time for them to start the course again.’

‘All right. Well, I’ll see you in an hour.’

‘Goodbye.’ Nick put the receiver down. I made to do the same. But, as I did so, I knocked the earpiece against the mirror on the wall. The glass rang and I gasped at the sound. My fingers wrapped so tightly around the telephone that all the blood drained from them and I held my breath, listening, praying that the person on the other end hadn’t heard. There was nothing, only my heart beating. It was all right. I began to put the handset down.

‘Is someone there?’ It rattled out of the earpiece. I waited, staring at the receiver. ‘Are you there?’ the voice repeated, slowly and cautiously. Then a click as they hung up. I breathed out.