Doctor Gavrilov (32 page)

Dr Senussi's voice was soft but firm. ‘Listen to me. You are exhausted. You cannot think straight when you are exhausted. In the morning, you and I can go for a walk together, we can talk things over. You can tell me what you are worried about. This is why everything has got out of proportion for you, because you have not talked to anyone about it. Now, please, let me give you this injection.'

Dmitry reluctantly inclined his head.

Katie picked the letter off the mat with the rest of the mail. She looked at the envelope with puzzlement; it was posted in Geneva, with a UN stamp. She went into the kitchen, put Sasha down on the mat with some toys, and opened it.

At first she could not understand it. She read the letter several times, hoping that somehow she could assemble the words differently, that they would reveal, on close inspection, some other meaning, but this eluded her. Finally, there could be no doubt. For a few minutes she was surprised that nothing extraordinary seemed to have happened; her heart was still beating quite normally, there was music on the radio, Sasha was reaching out his hand for a piece of fluff on the carpet.

She dropped the letter down on the table, stood up and went to the door. A feeling of terror began to grow and grow inside her. She didn't know what she could do, but she knew she couldn't be alone; she could not be here on her own with Sasha. She realised that she wasn't in control of herself; she would frighten him, might hurt him. She rushed to the telephone, but she knew she couldn't ring her family; she couldn't ever hope to explain it to them and in any case she had vowed she'd never ask them for help. She thought of some of the mothers from school, but she knew they wouldn't understand either, not even Jenny. Then she thought of Tim; it was still early, he might still be in the flat. She banged on his door; it opened; she went in. The window was open, the radio on, but Tim was not there.

Katie struggled to think clearly. He couldn't have left for work so early, and he wouldn't have gone leaving everything like this. He must have gone up the road to the shop. She ran out on to the pavement. It was a moist, warm day; earlier it had been raining but now the sun was coming out. She ran up the road to the newsagent on the corner. As she reached it Tim came out with some milk and a newspaper. He looked at her, his smile slowly fading and being replaced by a look of horror. He said, ‘What's the matter?' but Katie couldn't speak. Tim took her hand and led her back to the house; she stumbled through the front door and handed him the letter. It didn't matter that Sasha was crying; he would have to cry; she couldn't stop him, she knew that in a minute she would start to cry herself and then there would be no stopping her. Everything seemed focused on this moment in time, on Tim, holding the letter; she hoped that perhaps he would read it differently, though she saw already from his expression that this was not the case.

When Tim had read to the end of the letter he sat, stunned. He looked at Katie and didn't know what to say to her. Until this moment, he realised, he had never really thought of anything from Gavrilov's point of view, had never seen him as a real person, who thought and loved and suffered; the letter expressed such agonizing thoughts that they burned themselves into his mind; he could not imagine, himself, ever feeling such things. It was quite unimaginably dreadful, a human life gone, wasted. Katie suddenly spoke. She said, ‘It was posted a few days ago, in Geneva. Do you think it is true? Do you think that – he must be –'

She turned away, took three steps across the room, and then flung herself forward on to the table. The noise she made was hardly human. Tim sat and watched her, unable to react; Katie's cries, and the howls from the baby, made him feel close to panic. He picked up the baby, ran upstairs and put him, protesting, in the cot. Then he ran downstairs. ‘Katie, Katie, please, don't make that noise; here, let me help you.' He put his arms around her and held her against him, trying to offer support but sensing that this was the not the kind of grief for which there could be any kind of comfort. He said, ‘Katie, is there anyone I can ring? There must be someone who could come and look after the baby for you.'

Katie simply stared at him, white-faced, utterly distraught. Tim glanced again at the letter. He wondered if it was genuine or if for some reason someone had made him write it. It didn't sound like the kind of note anyone would make anyone write. He looked at the envelope; it had been posted in Geneva. Then he looked at the letter again. At the top, with the date, he now noticed, it said; ‘Tajura.' Tim knew what that meant. He felt a curious sensation on re-reading the letter; a sense almost of triumph, because he had been right, and also because the obstacle between him and Katie had been removed.

Katie lay down on the floor and started howling. Tim knelt over her, soothed her hair, but it made no difference; she was completely out of control. She sat up suddenly and said, ‘I can't breathe, I can't breathe.' Tim held her by the shoulders, shook her, trying to remember what you should do. He said, ‘Stop this, stop it, you are hysterical, you must stop.' Katie said, ‘I am trying to stop,' wrenched herself away from him and flung herself face downwards on the carpet. Tim didn't know how to cope with this. He said, ‘Katie, I shall have to get help. Shall I call the doctor? Do you want me to ring your parents?'

At this Katie sat up, made an effort to control herself. She said, ‘No… please don't call them. I don't want to see them, they would be pleased… they hated him.'

Tim said, ‘You'll need help with the children. Can they go somewhere? You need someone to be with you. I think I should call the doctor.' He thought they might be able to give her a sedative, something to calm her down. ‘Or what about Jenny?' He stood up to go to the phone but Katie suddenly grabbed him and said, ‘Tim, please, don't… It's too much to ask. I can't let her see me in this state. I would rather be with you.'

It was very still in the room. There was no sound; upstairs, the baby must have cried himself to sleep. Katie's shoulders still shuddered, but she was now calm. She looked beyond tears. Tim sat on the sofa beside her and put his arm round her shoulder, gently stroked her head. He said, ‘That's all right. I'll stay.'

He sat beside her, holding her hand. There was no point in saying anything; Tim just sat, and waited. After a while Katie said, ‘I have to know, Tim, if it's really true. What if someone made him write it? What if he meant to do this, but didn't? – There must be some way to find out. Do I contact the Russian embassy? How do I find out what has happened to…' she was crying again – ‘his body?'

Tim said, ‘We have someone in Tripoli. I could ask him if he knows anything.'

‘I'm sorry?' She looked bemused.

‘The letter says, Tajura. Do you know what that is?'

Katie was staring at him wildly; he took hold of her again, pressing her head against his shoulder and feeling her sobbing breaths. Tim was wondering what he could do with this information. It was the first actual case he had come across, where it could be confirmed that a Russian nuclear scientist, an expert in uranium enrichment, had been working for a foreign government. He, too, wondered how they could confirm that he was dead. Somewhere like Libya, it would be easy for a body to be disposed of, for the government to claim that he had never been there… Unless, of course, there was another reason for the letter. Tim said, voicing his thoughts, ‘Perhaps it's not how it looks, Katie, perhaps there is a reason… perhaps he wanted people to believe that he is dead.'

Katie sat up. She pressed her hands against her cheeks. She said, ‘Tim, don't do this to me… don't try to give me hope. He couldn't have written me such a letter and not have done it, how could he?'

Tim took her hand. He said, ‘You love him, don't you? Why?' and she said, ‘I don't know… I don't know.' Tim had thought for a moment that Dmitry's death might make things easier for him with Katie, but now he saw that it would make things more difficult. He stood up and drew the curtains. Warm sunlight suddenly spilled into the room. He said, ‘Perhaps there is some way to find out… I could work this into a news report, or perhaps sell the story to one of the papers… this might force someone to give out some information, to confirm or deny…'

Katie said, ‘No. No, Tim, no… If you do this, and he isn't dead…'

‘Yes, I know.' It would be like signing his death warrant. Tim looked at Katie; her face was blotchy, pale, almost ugly. Tim saw that he had to make a choice, between her trust in him, or getting his story. He said, ‘I will try to find out for you, Katie, carefully, discreetly. It might be possible… It might not be advisable for you to make enquiries. It might have the same effect… you might alert people, and then…' He put his arms around her. He said, ‘Will you trust me with this, Katie?'

‘Oh, Tim, I have to trust you… who else do I have?'

He embraced her, held her close to him for a long time. Then she said, ‘I have to ring my mother. I'll ask her to collect the children.' Tim passed her the phone; she dialled the number with shaking fingers. Tim held her all the time she talked. She told her mother she had flu, and asked if she could collect Anna from school and take both the children for a few days.

Tim could hear her mother's voice dimly, saying it wasn't very convenient, they had some do at the Golf Club.

Katie's voice was pleading. ‘Mummy, this is an emergency. I can't manage. I can't get out of bed. I've never asked for anything like this before –' her voice trembled. Tim could hear her mother reluctantly agreeing. Katie hung up, and started crying again.

‘I must pack some clothes for the children. They'll be here after lunch.'

‘I'll help you.' Tim went upstairs and Katie shoved some clothes at random into a large cloth bag. When they went in the baby's room he woke up and started crying; Katie held him to her, rocking him. Tim found Anna's toothbrush and her teddy. All the time she moved around, Katie went on crying.

When her parents were due Katie made him go downstairs. ‘I don't want them to see you. They'll ask questions…'

‘Does it matter –?'

‘You don't know them.' She insisted that he left her. Tim hovered on the stairs down to his flat. He heard the car arrive, the doorbell ring, and Katie's mother in the entrance hall, asking her if she had seen a doctor. He thought that Katie looked ill enough to convince anyone.

Katie's mother said, ‘Why don't you come with us. I don't like leaving you alone. Aren't you still feeding the baby yourself?'

Tim's heart sank for a moment, thinking she would go. Then he heard Katie say, ‘Only at bedtime… he will take a bottle. I want to be alone, honestly. I'll be better on my own. If I come with you the children will just want me all the time.'

Tim looked out of the window. He saw Katie's mother carrying the baby to the car and her father waving. As soon as they had gone he ran upstairs.

Katie was sitting in the middle of the floor, shaking her head. Tears kept washing down her face.

‘I can't bear it, Tim,' she said. ‘I just can't bear it. Help me, Tim, please help me.'