by Asia Mackay
I chased after him. He had the bag. We had to get it back. What Ling Ling might write off as an unfortunate incident with a random London mugger, we knew must be a tactic to find out Peng’s schedule for the next few days.
The Ghost was fast. I was grateful that Pixie had allowed me to wear my trainers. I sped after him at full pelt. He turned back once to see who was after him. Seeing a woman in a catsuit with backbrushed wild hair and sunglasses on her head was probably not what he expected.
There was another warehouse on the corner. I was betting it was where their vehicle was parked. He would have to slow down to turn the corner – that’s when I needed to hit.
I kept up my pace, never more grateful for the fact that despite work, despite Gigi, I still made the time to run twice a week. The Ghost slowed slightly as he approached the corner. I pushed myself further; I was nearly there. He turned the corner just as I came flying at him. We both fell to the ground. He landed badly. With me on top of him. He was unconscious, or doing a good job of pretending to be.
A van came screeching down the road towards us and pulled to a halt. Cameron got out the driver’s seat.
‘So you can still run. Even though you are a bit more . . .’ she tilted her head, ‘squashy.’
I tried to get my breathing to return to normal. My heart was still racing.
‘My Ghost is in the back.’ She motioned towards the back of the van. ‘Any sign of the third?’
A small Vauxhall Astra came racing down the road and passed us and the van without slowing. It turned left down the main road at full speed. The final Ghost was leaving. No attempt to retrieve fallen colleagues. No honour among thieves, no loyalty among Ghosts.
‘I already spoke to G,’ said Cameron. ‘He’s wiping us from any CCTV but we need to move fast. A police car will be here in seven. Ling Ling’s friends called them. I’ll play the helpful American tourist, return Ling Ling’s bag to her and then we get back to the Platform.’
The Ghosts needed to be logged in and interrogated, the Dictaphone recordings safely delivered to Geraint, and Hattie updated. Considering this latest attempted attack, we were going to have to up our protection of Peng. They were getting ready to strike.
I got up. My breathing was slowly returning to normal. I managed an ‘OK’.
‘How did the Ghosts know she was here?’ asked Cameron.
‘They must have all of the delegation under surveillance. We’ve got to be more careful. If they made a play for the Dictaphone, chances are they aren’t waiting until Lord Wycombe’s shoot to make the hit.’
We bent down and together picked up the unconscious Ghost and dragged him into the back of the van to join his friend. We slammed the doors shut.
‘Do you Rats always work like this? This buddying up to do missions?’ asked Cameron.
‘We always work as a team.’
‘It’s strange this whole hanging out together. The jokes. The chit chat. We usually just get a secure encrypted email and we go out and do it. Alone. I can go weeks, months even, without going into Track 101.’
‘Don’t you want to know why the target needs to die? Doesn’t it help to understand why what you’re doing is for the greater good?’
Cameron frowned. ‘I don’t need to know. The order’s been given. I follow it.’
It didn’t excuse Cameron being Cameron, but it did help explain why she was so bloody difficult to work with.
‘It sounds lonely.’
Cameron shrugged. ‘It’s less complicated. You learn to rely only on yourself. No emotional attachments. Track 101 don’t have to worry about your mental state if anything happens to anyone on your team. It’s a more efficient way to work.’
‘It doesn’t mean you have to apply the same attitude to your personal life.’ It must be my maternal side. Trying to help Cameron be a better person.
‘Not everyone wants to end up a monogamous martyr and ruin their body and career prospects by popping out a kid.’
It was a lost cause.
I handed Ling Ling’s bag to Cameron. ‘Go give it back and we can get out of here.’
We both turned at the sound of a van approaching down the road. It slowed as it came past us. A man popped his head out the passenger window. We both tensed.
‘All right, darlings, give us a smile,’ he leered as the van passed us by.
We ignored him.
For us the Ghosts were easy to spot. Hired muscle looking like hired muscle.
We were written off as women on a night out. They wouldn’t know the power we had. The men who’d fallen at our hand. It was still there. This belief we didn’t need to be taken seriously. This idea that we could be overlooked as a threat. More fool them. We were still the unexpected. It’s what made us better than them. They never saw us coming.
*
Daylight was slowly starting to creep in by the time I got on my bike and headed home. I ran over the evening’s events. I might be a little more tired. I might be a little more squashy. But I could still do my job just as well as before Gigi.
And now I got to go home to her.
The feeling of watching her sleep. This little person that I made. Pulling her duvet over her. Tucking her in. It felt like another life. One I didn’t deserve.
Everything else melted away.
Whatever was going on with Will would get better. It had to.
Marriage was tough. Marriage after kids was tougher. What the hell was that phrase ‘band-aid baby’? How could a baby hold a relationship together? ‘Baby-bomb’ would be more accurate. It could blow you apart. Less sleep, less sex, less fun.
I thought of the three of us in our bed yesterday morning. Her sweet round face, her dimpled cheeks, her rumpled hair. Lying between us as Will stroked her head and I held her hand. As she sang along to the Peppa Pig theme tune, we’d caught each other’s eye and laughed. Isn’t she perfect? Isn’t she wonderful? Aren’t we lucky? She’s ours.
Day to day it was harder. But Will and I were bonded together. Connected for life through the child we made. Our love for her plastering over the cracks.
Band-aid baby.
She helped us want to make ‘us’ work.
I parked my bike down the road from our house. The streets were empty. I figured I had enough time to creep in, change into whatever clothes I had in the clean laundry basket and pretend I’d fallen asleep on the sofa. Coming home at this hour was not going to help a relationship that was currently blighted by claims I worked too much.
I was nearly at my front door when I heard a ‘Lex!’ I turned round to see a smiling Rochelle in running gear jog over to my side of the road.
Rochelle seemed to be making a habit of turning up without warning at particularly inopportune moments. She was an early period on a white jeans day.
‘Look at you. Very impressive. Do you always run this early?’ I tried to start a conversation as if I didn’t look as if I was dressed like a prostitute crawling home on a walk of shame.
‘Always. I go for an hour, come back, quick shower and a green smoothie, catch up on emails, and then I get the kids up for school.’
‘Right.’ Of course she did. You didn’t get to be Supermum by starting your day whenever your child woke you up and by cramming jam crumpets in your mouth with a litre of caffeine.
‘Where on earth have you been?’
‘I’m just on my way back from the shops.’
Rochelle looked at her watch. ‘It’s 5.40 a.m.’ She gave me a once-over, taking in my smudged eye make-up, tight black catsuit and rumpled hair.
‘There’s that big twenty-four-hour Tesco’s.’
‘What did you need to get so urgently it couldn’t wait?’
‘Baking stuff. For that charity coffee morning today.’ Take that, Supermum. ‘You know how it is. I couldn’t sleep and suddenly remembered I hadn’t made any cupcakes. And I couldn’t let the school down.’
‘Right. So you got up, got dressed in a catsuit . . .’
�
��It’s actually a Weight Loss Onesie. It’s made of special imported Italian fabric that burns fat while you sleep.’
She looked at each of my empty hands. ‘But you didn’t buy anything?’
‘All in here.’ I tapped the bum bag. ‘Vanilla essence and sprinkles.’ She couldn’t catch me out. I was a trained liar. ‘You’d better get running if want to get that full hour in.’
‘I can’t wait to taste them. Make sure you show me which are yours.’ She gave a little wave as she jogged off.
I doubted I had convinced Rochelle. But at least what was reassuring was that she would just presume I was cheating opposed to fighting.
It wasn’t easy leading a double life. If a nosey school mum could spot the cracks, my husband could too.
I had to be more careful.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: TOP SECRET Natural Herpes Remedy!
MISSION: #80521
UNIT: WHISTLE
DATE: Thursday 3rd October
ALERT: 3 DAYS UNTIL PENG’S DEPARTURE
Chapter Fifteen
‘THEY’RE SO AMAZING, MAMA.’
Gigi was staring at my lopsided emergency-baked cupcakes, covered in pink icing and rainbow sprinkles.
‘They best cupcakes ever, Mama.’ It was moments like this that made it worth having children. Blind adoration. I was already dreading the day she grew up and knew better.
‘I didn’t hear you come in.’ Will came up behind me.
‘Passed out on the sofa down here.’
‘And already been baking?’
‘A mother’s work is never done.’ I looked over at Will pouring himself a coffee. ‘Did you know Rochelle lives round here? Her son is at Gigi’s nursery.’
Will took a sip of coffee. ‘I did know that, yes.’ He went to sit down at the table with Gigi. I watched him continue to drink his coffee as he stared at his phone.
I wondered if Rochelle was the one texting in the middle of the night.
If he was going to betray our marriage vows and cheat on me, it had better be with someone worth it. One of those human rights lawyers he sometimes came across at work. An intense, worthy sort, who he fell deeply in love with because she was saving children in Syria.
That I could take. And kind of understand. But Rochelle? A simpering busybody in wedge trainers? Fuck no. He didn’t get to screw up our life for someone like that.
It was useful to know that there were different levels of how angry I could get if he was cheating, dependent upon how good a woman his mistress was.
I watched him continue to scroll.
Had things got so bad I would be setting Special Projects on him as soon as Platform Eight were off lockdown? Instruct them to do a deep dive through all his emails, texts, WhatsApp messages? I had always resisted the temptation to use the many avenues available to me as a government operative. If I didn’t trust him, what was the point?
Will’s phone pinged as a text message came in. He smiled as he read it and then slipped his phone into his pocket.
The point was I would know for sure.
And knowledge was power.
If I was fighting for my marriage I needed to know what I was up against.
*
After a coffee morning where I heard the words ‘are these gluten-free?’ as often as ‘they look amazing but I won’t, thank you’, I came home and slept for two hours. Enough to reset and feel vaguely ready for what would be another long day.
I woke to an urgent email with the title: ‘HOT CHICKS AVAILABLE NOW$$!!’. I tapped in my authorisation code and the X-rated content merged into a request from Hattie that I go to a church in Putney where Dionne had taken Peppa’s daughter Bella. My mission was to retrieve a bag that was currently in the base of the pram.
On Robin’s morning round of collecting the audio from the receivers at the three Pigs’ houses, he’d seen Peppa and her daughter rush into a café down the road from her house and then reappear five minutes later, clutching a very small bag bearing a green logo. She had put it in the base of the pram and, despite meeting Dionne on the corner and saying goodbye to her daughter in her buggy, she did not take the bag with her. Considering we had nearly ruled out Daddy Pig, the Snake was now either Peppa or George. Hattie considered this a big enough lead that whatever was in there could be anything from a security pass to a USB stick of intel for the Coyote.
I arrived in time to see Dionne enter the church hall with Peppa’s daughter, Bella. Robin came up beside me.
He nodded towards the stream of mothers, nannies and toddlers going into the church. ‘There’s a buggy parking area round the side but it’s overlooked by the whole hall.’
‘OK, I’ll go look. What kind of buggy is it?’
Robin frowned. ‘Black? With wheels?’
I realised that although I may be able to recognise and list buggy brand names as easily as if they were cars, this talent may not extend to childless colleagues.
He stretched and yawned. ‘Sorry, late night.’ I noticed he was in the same clothes as yesterday.
‘Stuck with Peng?’
‘Stuck in Shawna.’ He reached out for a high five. I left him hanging. ‘We got talking on the Northern line one night and just had our third date.’ He sighed. ‘She’s so beautiful she makes my balls ache.’
‘Robin, we talked about this.’
‘You said girls liked compliments? I want to marry her.’
I looked at him smiling to himself. Robin had been a trainee Rat for coming up to three years now – nearly double the time it took most Rats, including Jake and me. Despite this Robin had never really complained – the odd jibe about it being time to move on was as far as he got. Finding someone so upbeat and nice in this industry was rare. He never had dark moments or silent moods you had to tiptoe around. I realised a lot of why I was stalling on Robin graduating from Whistle was because, as much as I complained about him and his crap jokes, I would miss having him around. And that wasn’t fair.
‘I’m going to talk to Jake about you getting your own unit.’
‘Really? You mean it?’ He grinned. ‘Thanks, Mum.’ And held out his arms for a hug.
I waved him off. ‘Just get back to the Platform. I’ve got this.’
He blew me a kiss as he walked away, whistling to himself.
Everyone was always in a better mood when getting some. Maybe that’s what Will and I needed to do. Have more sex. Maybe then we’d argue less. Although when to fit it in? I thought of our plans for the week. Scheduling sex. Sexy.
There was a ‘Buggy Park’ sign with an arrow pointing round the side of the church. I turned the corner to be confronted with around thirty buggies.
I checked each one. A plastic bag with a green logo. That’s all I was looking for.
It was on buggy number twenty that I finally found it. I opened it.
Poo.
Poo in a small pair of Princess pants.
Bella was clearly not doing so well at the potty-training.
If Peppa was using her daughter’s crap to smuggle information to Tenebris, all power to her. But I was pretty sure the suspicious behaviour and suspect package could be explained away as a rush to prevent an accident and a clearing up of the aftermath.
Either way I wasn’t going to rummage through it to check. I handled enough at home.
*
I was on my motorbike back to the Platform when my phone rang. I looked down at the screen as I approached a red light. It was Gigi’s nursery. I clicked answer and a voice crackled through my Bluetooth.
‘You need to come immediately.’ The line broke off slightly and I just heard ‘unacceptable’.
‘Ms Yvonne? I can’t hear you? Is everything OK?’
‘I . . . really . . . Gigi nearly killed someone.’ That last line came in very clear. I screeched to a halt and turned the bike around.
As I sped across London, going through nearly every red ligh
t, all I could think was: nature v nurture. Clearly it’s in her genes. How could the violence of my working life already have filtered through to my two-year-old daughter? The biting was the start. And now . . . Now what? What the hell could she have done? Water-boarded Felix at the water-play table? Tried to suffocate Sophia in the sandpit? Stabbed little Lulu with the safety-scissors? My mind burst with toddler Hunger Games scenarios.
*
A solitary peanut was placed in the middle of the table.
‘Do you not think . . .’ I cleared my throat. ‘Do you not think this is a slight over-reaction?’
Yvonne observed me silently. ‘This is a nut-free environment. It is on all our literature. It is proudly written underneath our sign in the entrance hall.’
‘Is there any child here, right now, who has a nut allergy?’
‘That is not the point. We have rules for a reason.’
‘I understand that. And, Ms Yvonne, I totally respect that. But just hear me out. If currently no one at this nursery has a nut allergy, Gigi accidentally bringing in a nut, which must have been in one of her pockets, could not be classed as having “nearly killed someone”.’
‘There could be children who have nut allergies that have not yet manifested. We are not going to have children put in danger. Not on my watch.’ She straightened her back and puffed out her chest.
I had come across people like Yvonne before. There was no point arguing with her. Health and safety was her religion. And she worshipped at the altar of form-filling and box-ticking. I just needed to pay my dues and get back to work.
‘I’m very sorry. This will never happen again. We will become a nut-free household – just in case any of us are perhaps allergic and it has not yet manifested.’ I tried to smile.
I saw Frederick at the head of the queue for picking up on the way out. ‘Everything OK?’
He looked confused that I had already been inside and that the doors were now once again closed. Ms Yvonne was a stickler for timekeeping and there were officially still three minutes until pick-up.
