Faithless (53 page)

He was home in twenty minutes. Ailsa was in the kitchen. He could hear the noises of pots and pans. She had the radio on listening to Radio 3. He shouted hello and she appeared. She came and gave him a kiss and said, "I'm making spaghetti carbonara is that ok?"

             
He nodded.

             
Still smiling she said, "There's a bottle of wine open in the kitchen if you fancy a glass." Then she stopped. "What's the matter?"

             
"I need to leave," he said.

             
"What are you talking about? Go get a drink."

             
He didn't move.

             
"You're odd," she said. "What's the matter with you?" She frowned.

             
He said, "I'll go and pack." 

             
She struggled to find an explanation - to control the rising pain in her heart. She said, "Are you going away with work?"

             
He shook his head. "I don't have much stuff here anyway."

             
She leaned back against a chair. Like sand she felt him draining through her fingers; black coral, white mica. She knew he'd never truly been hers. She'd knew the children would always drag him back to Karen and then she'd be on her own. She'd been stupid.

             
He reached out and touched her. He said, "It's not what you think."

             
"What do I think?"

             
"I'm not going back to her."

             
"Then I don't understand."

             
"I have to leave London."

             
"What are you talking about? Why?"

             
"Sit down."

             
"I'm not a ninny. I'm not going to collapse. Tell me what's going on?"

             
"I'm going to Moscow."

             
"On a posting? As a visiting case officer?"

             
He shook his head. "I'm going to Moscow. Not to the Embassy."

             
She sat down. Then she got up again.  She walked through to the kitchen. He followed her. She picked up her wine and drank half the glass at once.

             
"Come with me," he said. "I love you."

             
She shook her head. "No more I love yous. What have you done?"

             
"I've done what I had to."

             
She was angry. "The only thing we have to do is die. The rest we choose."

             
"Then I've chosen."

             
"You've betrayed your country."

             
"I've been true to what I am."

             
She looked disbelieving. "You know, I'm not even angry with you because of patriotism. I don't even think about things like that. But this is insane."

             
He took her hand. "I can see why you don't get it. The system has always looked after you. It's designed to look after those who already have everything. But it's wrong."

             
She brushed him off her and took another drink of her wine. "So you've let off a hand grenade in the middle of our life for politics?"

             
"You have to be loyal to what you are."

             
"What are you John? Do you really know?" she snapped.

             
"I do. I am this."

             
"You've sacrificed everything for an idea. You're a fool."

             
"If you like."

             
She was upset. "You know I could never put my finger on what drew me to you. But now I know. It's because you're a wise and foolish angel. You don't live in the world of things like the rest of us."

             
"I have to hurry," he said. She followed him upstairs. To her now, he was as insubstantial as air; nothing but thoughts and beliefs. She was thinking as fast as she could. "I can't come with you to Moscow. Could we go to Beruit? Cape Town? Somewhere else?"

             
"Ailsa, I'm not running away. I'm going home."

             
"To the home of the Revolution? My God, you are an idiot child. They're as corrupt as we are."

             
"The Soviet system is filled with corruption. But there are those who still believe. It's the closest thing I've got to a place where people don't sneer at miners striking for their jobs and who don't think the Market should be left to trample on people in the name of profit. "

             
"You'll find fellow believers in Rotherham and the Rhondda. You don't have to go overseas," she said bitterly. "You're leaving me for this? It's nonsense."

             
"I'm going. I want you to come with me."

             
She shook her head. "I can't."

             
"You've said that before. You came to me eventually."

             
"I came to you when I didn't have a choice."

             
He said, "This time, make the choice."

             
"It's too much. I'm frightened."

             
"I will get to the other side, and then I'll ask you again to find your courage."

             
She grabbed him and stopped him packing. "Why not just forget me? You've left other things. Why do you want me so much?"

             
"Because you are a fire burning. Don't fade away. Don't be one of them."

             
She started to cry. "Why didn't you bury your ideals like everyone else? You could have just put up with it like the other good people who cooled off and did a deal. We could have been happy."

             
"I won't surrender to them. Not to money. Not for a pension and a holiday twice a year. And you wouldn't love me if I did."

             
She wouldn't let go of him."Turn yourself in. We'll say you've gone mad or something. Get you in a hospital somewhere."

             
"I'm leaving Ailsa. Please come."

             
"I can't."

             
He gently unlocked her hands from his arms. "Then you need to turn me in to protect yourself. Give me an hour, and call them."

Two hours later, she phoned the Office and spoke to Philip Neilson. She could hardly talk - her voice was choked with sobbing.

             
"It's John," she said. "He's just told me that he's working for the Russians. He was the source."

             
"We know," said Philip. "Where is he?"

             
"He's left already. I don't know where he's gone. I don't want to know. I've destroyed my life for him."

             
"He took us all in."

             
"I loved him."

             
"I know."

             
"Will they catch him?"

             
"I should think so."

             
"At least he's not one of them working for us. They get shot," she said.

             
"Life in prison I should think for John."

             
"I want him to escape," she said.

             
"Funnily enough, so do I," said Philip.

8th November, 7pm, London:
John was gone before they knew to start looking for him. He took very little in a small rucksack on his back. The wind was from the west, blowing leaves from the London Plane Trees along Euston Road. Crowds hurried about their evening business hardly noticing each other: going out for the evening; late from work; beginning their shifts. He was merely one of them; a spy, an adulterer, a traitor. His sins hidden from them as theirs were from him. But he felt exhilarated. He felt purposeful. He was focused on the task of escape. Those left behind him, his children, his love were for now eclipsed by this. 

He caught the train from Marylebone and sat down in a carriage full of returning commuters, readers lost in their Evening Standards and
Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit.
Some ate sandwiches and looked at their watches. He wondered what MI5 would do if they found him on the train. Would they watch him to see where he led them, or would they arrest him straight away? The train started. He felt calm. He was a needle in a haystack.

The evening was dark as he travelled out of London through a world o
f house backs, street lamps and gardens. The wasteland outside domesticity was home to rank grass and brambles; hazel bushes, rabbits and hidden rats. Birds flew up giving pointless warnings about the oncoming train. People looked at their watches again; they turned their pages. He realised that he was apart from them. He was without anything to distract him, sitting alert amid their somnolescence. He reached forward on the table to pick up the Sports Section of the Telegraph. The woman opposite looked up and glared at him. "Do you mind?" She said.

             
"Sorry, I thought it had been left."

             
"Yes, by me. It's not yours."

He smiled back at her and she went back to reading an article about how middle class Telegraph readers were subsidising feckless welfare scroungers.

The night was complete by the time he got off at Amersham Station. He walked slowly amidst crowds of secretaries, middle managers; girlfriends being picked up by their boyfriends and sons by their mums. He handed in his ticket and left the station. He paused to put his collar up against the damp wind and looked around. Everyone was dissipating. Soon no one was left but a man looking forlornly into the station to see whether there were still stragglers coming out, one of whom might be the girl he was waiting for.

John shouldered his rucksack and walked briskly down Station Road until he came to the roundabout th
at Bebur had indicated. To the left there was a small brick wall fronting a belt of trees. He jumped over the wall. Though he could be seen in the light of the sodium streetlamp there were few people around because of the deterioration in the weather and those who were there, if they looked, glanced quickly away, not wanting to be involved in any kind of hooliganism. He found the loose brick. There was a small package wrapped in paper wrapped in plastic. He put it inside his coat. He leapt back over the wall and walked away. He went in a random direction, but not too far in case he got lost. He felt inside the padded envelope. He felt documents and half pulled them out. There was a passport, a driving licence and a wad of cash in £50 notes. He thought that would be a problem. Which small shop would take a £50?

             
Bebur had intended him to hire a car, but there were no car hire places open at this time of night. He walked back to the station. There was a kebab shop. He bought a doner kebab but when he offered the man at the till the £50 he got a refusal.

             
"It's all I've got."

             
"Sure you don't have anything smaller guv'nor? There's a lot of £50s been forged. Not saying you would pas one though."

             
John shook his head. "It's a real one. I won it on a horse," and he immediately regretted the lie because it would stick in the man's memory. The man sighed and gave him change. John gave him a pound tip. "Thanks mate," he said.

             
"Have a good night."

John walked away from the station and its lights until he found a dark
place at the beginning of a residential street. There he stood with his back to a wall, sheltering from the fine rain and eating his kebab. He couldn't hire a car but he was still too close to London to rest. He decided to catch a bus. After a short wait, he caught a bus to Aylesbury and from Aylesbury to Oxford. He had to wait an hour in a bus shelter in Aylesbury with a punk and an old man, none of whom spoke to each other. By the time he got to Oxford he was cold. He didn't want to get off the bus, but that was where it terminated. The driver switched off the engine and flicked the lights on and off to tell them all to alight. There were only a handful of people on the bus but all except him seemed glad to leave its warmth and light for the cold night outside.

8th November 6pm, London:
Karen was at home and when the phone rang thought it was her mother. In fact it was John's. "Hello Karen?" she said. "It's Elizabeth. John's mother."

             
"I know who you are Elizabeth. Just because John's left me I haven't wiped my memory clean of everything to do with him," she laughed.

             
"Oh, of course. Good." There was a pause. "How are you?"

             
"I'm ok, considering." said Karen. "I don't mean to make you feel bad by saying that by the way. You've always been great with me."

             
"Thank you Karen. I'm sorry I haven't phoned you to see how you were. It was just awkward."

             
"That's ok. I understand."

             
"And how are my wee girls?"

             
"They're fine." Karen turned round and looked at the girls who were crawling on the floor playing with their toy kittens. "Grandma Elizabeth's asking after you girls." They looked bemused and went back to their kittens.

             
"Listen Karen, do you know where John is?"

             
There was a cold silence and Karen said, "No. Why should I?"

             
She felt Elizabeth's awkwardness over the phone. Elizabeth said, "I'm sorry to ask you, but I've had the strangest phone call."

             
"Oh?"

             
"A man rang. Said his name was Dave. Said he was an old college friend of John's and was wondering how he'd get in touch."

             
"I don't remember a Dave from Durham. But I didn't know all of his friends. If he isn't in touch with John how did he get your number?"