‘That looks good,’ Oxana ventures.
The young woman regards her coldly. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘Forget it,suka. I’ll leave you alone.’
The plane takes off. Oxana sits in silence, gazing blankly at the seat-back in front of her.
I want to be the woman on the front of her book. I want to cut that blue-haired bitch’s head off with that big-ass sword. I want to pick up her severed head and drop it in the refuse trolley with the miniature gin bottles and the half-eaten dinners and the greasy plastic cutlery. The stewardess will be annoyed, but she’ll understand that I’ve been provoked beyond endurance.
Eve’s right. This is a very dangerous job, and the most difficult part will be getting away with it. Living to tell the tale, although I doubt this particular tale will ever be told. It’s flattering that the Twelve have chosen me, but I’ve played enough chess to know that sometimes you have to sacrifice a major piece to further your ends. Is this operation so important that they’re prepared to see me killed? Did they come for me specially, knowing that I’ll go all the way, regardless of the risk?
Not to feel fear is a dangerous thing, Eve tells me. It means that you can’t properly assess threat. She’s right, but I’m glad that I don’t feel it. I’ve seen fear in the eyes of others, and it’s an ugly, debilitating thing. It reduces you. It paralyses you, and I’d rather be without it. Eve raised the fear issue in the course of a conversation about what she delicately calls my ‘condition’. She was arguing, in her gentle way, that together we were much more powerful than we were separately, because we each possessed what the other lacked. My violence and her subtlety. My affectlessness and her sensitivity. My fearlessness and her caution. She’s right, of course, as far as everyday life goes. But in the world in which I operate, only the mad survive. People don’t like that word these days, but I claim it. I fucking claim it. And I will survive.
16
When Eve wakes, her mouth is dry, her head aches, and the brightness has gone from the sky. For several long seconds, she’s unsure of where she is and what time of day it is. She glances at her watch, it’s 4.30 in the afternoon, and in a series of stops and starts, her memory begins to engage. There was that extraordinary meal at The Stag, the thought of which now makes her feel slightly sick, and then, presumably, a taxi ride back from Fairley. She can’t remember letting herself into Philippa’s house, but she must have done, because here she is.
A little shakily, she makes her way down the narrow, creaking staircase, and finds Jack Demerell sitting in the kitchen having a cup of tea with Philippa. He smiles to see Eve, and she feels unaccountably self-conscious.
‘I was just telling Philippa that there’s a woman named in the parish records as Diot Coke,’ Jack says. ‘She lived in Tudor times. Her full name was Diotima.’
Eve stares at him blankly.
‘I was also telling her that we were at school together, back in the day.’
Eve lifts the china teapot and pours herself a cup. ‘That’s true,’ she says. ‘We were.’
‘We even went on a date.’
She smiles. ‘You, me and Amanda Bynes.’
‘Anyway, I was wondering if you felt like…’ He frowns. ‘I’m taking a bunch of kids up into the hills tomorrow, teenagers, and I wondered if you wanted to come. It’ll just be a walk, really. Maybe a bit of foraging, and we might see a fox or an owl if we’re lucky. If you’re free, obviously.’ He smiles at her encouragingly.
Teacup in hand, Eve returns his smile. ‘Won’t you need to see a criminal record check? If we’re in charge of children, I mean?’
‘Don’t worry, I wouldn’t be employing you. You’d just be coming along for the ride. So to speak.’
‘Well, um…’ Eve glances at Philippa, who’s watching her expressionlessly. ‘Um, yes, sure. Why not?’
‘Excellent.’ He drains his tea and places the cup in its saucer. ‘Pick you up at ten tomorrow? These kids aren’t early risers, so we won’t be making an early start.’
‘OK. See you then, Jack.’
Eve and Philippa watch him go. ‘You’re a very wicked woman,’ Eve says. ‘I suppose you’re going to tell me this was some kind of magic.’
‘It’s as magic as you want to make it. He just turned up here. I’m guessing it was you who told him you were staying with me.’
‘There’s a look in your eye.’
‘I’m not denying that a day in the hills would do you a power of good, even in the company of Jack Demerell’s waifs and strays.’
‘What’re they like?’
Philippa shrugs. ‘Not bad kids. Just bored, most of ’em. Tom went out with him a couple of times.’
‘Where is Tom? I haven’t seen him for days.’
‘Sleeping over at some girl’s, probably. He’s like a poacher’s dog, that one.’