Going Viral

by Andrew Puckett

  I stared at her. ‘Do you really think that?’

  ‘Get beaten up on a regular basis, do you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Bit of a coincidence then, isn’t it?’

  ‘But why? We went over this – what could they gain from it?’

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t know, it’s just that I have a problem with coincidences.’ She sighed. ‘I hope it’s not something we’re rudely enlightened about.’

  We drove in silence after that till we got to my house. She came in without either of us saying anything. I made coffee for her and tea for myself. We had it in the sitting room. She asked whether I was going back to work tomorrow.

  ‘They’ve advised against, but in the circumstances, I think I have to.’

  ‘What circumstances?’

  ‘After what’s happened, I’ve got to have a SCRUB meeting and make it clear who’s boss.’

  She nodded. ‘I suppose so.’

  I remembered something else. ‘Are you happy about dropping the Bath connection for now – after Tim’s visit?’

  ‘I think so,’ she said … ‘The only thing is, at the dinner I went to last night, a couple of them got very heated about Open Door – that’s the group in Bath Mary Broomfield’s a member of.’

  I’d forgotten about her cosy dinner date. I asked what had happened and she told me about the spat and how the host had to shut them up.

  ‘Craig… Is that the guy you thought fancied you?’ I asked.

  ‘I still do think so,’ she said, the faintest smile touching her mouth. She told me how he’d invited her into his house for coffee afterwards.

  ‘Wasn’t that a bit risky, if he’s involved?’

  ‘The boss knew where I was, and anyway, he’s not at the top of my list. Besides which, he was a perfect gentleman.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ I said. ‘He’s bound to try it on again, though…’

  ‘Will I lie back and think of England, you mean? Well, it’s not really any of your business, but as it happens, I don’t think it’ll be necessary.’

  ‘That could have more than one meaning,’ I said before I could stop myself.

  ‘So it could,’ she said. Then – ‘There’s another thing I ought to tell you - the Government’s making an announcement tomorrow morning that they’re increasing the overseas aid budget by –’

  ‘You mean they’re giving in?’

  ‘No, I don’t mean that. They’re increasing the whole budget by about three quarters of a billion and not saying how much of it goes to Africa. It’s something they were going to do anyway, and they’re announcing it now so as to get some kind of reaction from John Amend-all.’

  ‘The most likely one is to say it’s not enough.’

  ‘Maybe, but the way they do that might help us.’ She put her mug on the coffee table and stood up. ‘Anyway, I hope you feel better tomorrow. Ring me if anything comes up.’

  I saw her to the door and watched her drive away, then spent the rest of the afternoon moping about the house.

  I checked that the car started and then had a bath. I still had the bandage on my head and had to be careful not to get it wet, which meant not washing my hair. Poor lamb, I hear you say, but my scalp felt greasy and itchy. However, the hot water eased my aches and bruises and I felt better for it.

  I scratched up a meal (like the last time I was home) only this one featured baked beans quite a lot, as a counterpoint to the all stodge they’d served up in hospital.

  Wine, TV, a book and then bed. Despite all the sleep I’d had in hospital, I slept like the dead… perhaps not the most appropriate figure of speech in the circs...

  The next morning, I made a point of listening to the news on the radio, and sure enough, the Government’s announcement was made just as Rebecca had said. I wondered whether John Amend-all was listening, what they were thinking at this moment.

  I got to work half an hour late, which wasn’t bad. After all the obligatory enquiries after my health, sincere for the most part, I arranged a SCRUB meeting for the afternoon, then caught up with paperwork, calls and messages. Tim dropped by.

  ‘How’re you feeling?’

  ‘I’ve felt better.’

  ‘Any idea who did it yet?’

  ‘No.’ I told him how the cops’d interviewed Pops and Roland, but got nowhere.

  He lowered his voice. ‘Is it connected, d’you think?’

  ‘The inspector thinks so, but can’t see where. Neither can I.’

  He thought for a moment. ‘The thing is, even if they knew about SCRUB, I don’t see how it could help them.’

  The inspector thought the same, I told him.

  ‘How sure are you – they – that’s it’s not Roland? I mean, coming just after he’d got you to rearrange the meeting…’

  ‘I know, but would he really go that far just to be Area Leader?’

  He shrugged. ‘You tell me.’

  Which is where we left it. He obviously had something else on his mind and I waited for him to spit it out.

  ‘The meeting you were going to have last Friday… you were going to clear the air, weren’t you?’

  He waited for me to nod.

  ‘Are you still going to do that this afternoon?’

  I was, I assured him.

  ‘Good,’ he said.

  After he’d gone, I pondered awhile on how I intended to fulfil those fine words…

  They’d all turned up by two. Roland was not only on time, but wasn’t the last to arrive for once. After assuring them I was on the highway to health, I checked their vaccination certificates and whether their Green Bags were all up to date.

  ‘Which brings me to another topic,’ I said. ‘I’m sure – in fact I know – you’re all aware that my wife Sarah, my estranged wife, informed me last week that I have a daughter…’ There were nods as I looked around… ‘And that shortly after that surprise, I was beaten up and had to spend a few days in hospital.’ I touched the bandage on my head.

  ‘I also know…’ I slowed down as I said this… ‘that the question has arisen as to whether these events have compromised my effectiveness as Area Leader.’ I looked round at them again, one by one.

  ‘I think the best answer I can give is to use the words of the late, lamented Harold Wilson, when his leadership was questioned… I know what’s going on.’ Pause. ‘I am. Are there any questions or observations on that?’

  Anne quickly said how glad she was I was feeling better now, and Helen asked if the police had any idea who’d done it, or why.

  Thank you, and no, not yet.

  They asked a few more questions and we talked for a while. Roland didn’t say anything. Then they all left, except for him.

  ‘A word, Herry?’

  A nod. ‘Sure.’

  He shut the door. ‘I know we’ve had our differences, but please believe me, I would never stoop so low as to have you beaten up because of it.’ He looked me squarely in the eye as he said this.

  I’ve never been quite sure about that –someone looking you straight in the eye. Conventionally, it’s taken as a sign of sincerity, but I remember a psychologist telling me that because of that, it’s what all liars do. The true sign of sincerity, he said, was to look just to one side of the face, at a point over your shoulder, say.

  I said nothing.

  He went on, ‘I’ve also been told, by Fenella, that I’m only still on the team because you wanted it that way. I want you to know that I appreciate that and will serve you loyally.’

  Which was laying it on a bit thick, I thought. He held out his hand.

  I took it, then asked if he’d checked all the Red Bags in Ward Seven yet, the ones for treating patients at the sites of infection. He assured me it was in hand.

  *

  Later, I went to Casualty, where a nurse took off the bandage and expressed satisfaction with what lay underneath. I asked if I could wash my hair. She looked doubtful. I begged, and realising that I was almost certainly going to anyway
, she gave her assent.

  Supermarket, home, meal. Then a bath with hair wash – Ahh! Then wine, book and bed.

  Chapter 20

  On the same Monday morning, Brigg had rung Rebecca and told her he’d been comparing the national membership lists of the other charities with Fenella’s national list of virologists.

  ‘We’ve got nine hits,’ he said.

  ‘D’you rate any of them?’

  ‘No, not really, there were bound to be a few. Still got to check them out, though.’ He paused. ‘You any further?’

  ‘No, not really,’ she said, then realised she was parroting him.

  ‘Well, see if this helps,’ he said, ‘we’ve just finished all the searches on the Exeter BTA members…’

  Marc, Sophie, Craig, Alan, Ron and Malcolm had all done at least a year’s VSO in Africa, some of them two or more.

  ‘Not Hannah?’ she asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Strange how the converts can be the most zealous…’

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  Marc, Hannah and Sophie had been members of a militant group in London called Direct Action Africa before they’d moved west and joined BTA.

  Hannah and Sophie both had convictions for violence from their student activist days. Both had been bound over.

  Hannah, Sophie and Emma were members of Open Door as well as BTA. Malcolm and Craig were also members of the Anti-Slavery League, which tied in with Craig’s choice of title for his forum – Starvation, the new Slavery.

  There was nothing about Will at all.

  So, what could she glean from all that, she wondered after she’d put the phone down?

  Well, Marc and Sophie must be more militant (and violent?) than they appeared... And Open Door – was the connection stronger than they’d thought? Should they have cleared Mary Broomfield so easily?

  Anything else? Craig and Malcolm obviously felt strongly about slavery – but so what? A lot of people did…

  She wrote it all down again on a fresh piece of paper and spent an hour shuffling things around to see if she could discern any pattern. She couldn’t, and thought instead of about whose houses she’d cleared so far as being possible sites for a hidden lab… Alan’s, Ron’s, and Marc and Hannah’s, now that Greg had checked the gardens. Malcolm and Sophie lived in rented flats, which made them less likely, she thought. Which left Craig… maybe she should have stayed there longer on Saturday…

  One thing she hadn’t done was speak to the two plods again who’d gone to the flat over the shop after the break-in. Do it now…

  Phone the station first? No, better face to face.

  She drove down and asked the station sergeant if she could speak to PCs Groom and Parsons. Parsons was in, but Groom was away on a course in Birmingham until Thursday. She spoke to Parsons who, of course, was the one who’d chatted to Will and Emma while Groom had asked for the loo and looked round the flat.

  She asked him whether he’d noticed anything suspicious about the flat on the way in. No, he hadn’t.

  Anything about the tenants?

  Parsons thought about this – he was a middle-aged man with a moustache who seemed to have found his level of incompetence at PC.

  ‘They were nervous,’ he said at last. ‘Definitely nervous about something.’

  ‘Normal nervousness at a visit from the police, or more than that?

  ‘Couldn’t rightly say after all this time. Could have been normal nervous, could have been more.’

  She swallowed her irritation and persisted. ‘But which would you go for if you had to?’

  He wasn’t to be moved. ‘Like I said, I really can’t say. Ma’am.’

  She gave up. Perhaps he didn’t like being questioned by a woman – there were still some like that, mostly older PCs like this one, or maybe he was still niggled at the fact she’d been in the shop when they’d searched it… She thanked him and went back to her flat.

  In the afternoon, she phoned Herry and he told her about the SCRUB meeting and what Roland had said afterwards about the attack.

  ‘Did you believe him?’

  ‘I think so. I would have done for sure if he hadn’t been such a shit earlier.’ Another pause. ‘D’you still think it’s connected?’

  ‘I honestly don’t know. But like I said, I don’t like coincidences.’

  She phoned round her team. Nothing new. Rang Brigg again. Ditto.

  *

  Next morning, Tuesday, she was wondering about calling Craig to lay the ground for seeing him again when her phone rang… and she somehow knew it would be him.

  It was. He asked if she’d recovered from Saturday, told her he’d heard nothing from his boss yet, then asked if she like to have a meal with him. ‘A meal out,’ he added, ‘As in not a covert seduction job at my place. Although I can cook,’ he further added.

  She giggled, said, ‘I’d love to. When were you thinking of?’

  ‘No time like the present – what about tonight?’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘Shall I pick you up, or meet you there?’

  ‘There. If you’ll tell me where there is.’

  ‘Where there is…? Oh, the eatery, you mean? I thought the Quorum, in Broad Street. D’you know it?’

  ‘I can find it.’

  ‘I’ll see you there, then. Seven?’

  Business of course, she thought as she put the phone down, but it was still nice to asked out by an attractive male. And Craig was attractive, she realised… Why? What made him attractive?

  He wasn’t tall, if anything, he was a bit on the short side… As was she, of course. Nor was he that good-looking, slightly monkey-faced, if anything. But he was both funny and fun - and that was quite a lot.

  He was also rather sexy…

  ‘Business,’ she told herself aloud.

  *

  She phoned round the team again. Nothing.

  In the afternoon, she called Brigg and told him about seeing Craig and finding a way to look round his house.

  ‘Well, be careful,’ he said, ‘make sure your panic button’s on.’ They all had panic buttons on their mobiles, and she told him she would.

  ‘I think we need a face-to-face,’ he said. ‘I’ll come to you tomorrow, around midday. Can you arrange for Smith to be there?’

  She could, and rang Herry as soon as they’d finished.

  Later, she thought about what to wear in the evening. She’d always been in jeans or leggings when they’d met before, so a skirt or dress – not that she had a great selection down here. She took a long, hot shower, then tried what dresses she had, eventually opting for a dark blue.

  It was less than a mile, so she walked. It was dusky, but there was still a band of light in the west – evenings drawing out... the snow had all gone and it was quite mild.

  Broad Street was indeed broad and the Quorum about half way along, tucked discreetly between two larger buildings. Inside was further discretion, discrete lighting and dark wooden panels, and she hadn’t had time to decide whether it was contrived or genuine when she saw Craig coming over from the bar.

  ‘You found it, then?’

  ‘Well, I’m here.’

  ‘So you are.’ He grinned. ‘What would you like to drink?’

  She had a glass of red wine. He was drinking white, she noticed.

  ‘Did you walk? he asked.

  She nodded, and he said, ‘So did I. Most civilised way to travel, when it comes down to it.’

  ‘Depends how civilised the street population is,’ she said.

  He grinned again. ‘Yeah. It’s not too bad here – early evening, anyway. Is London as bad as they say?’

  ‘In parts. Mostly not.’

  They chatted easily for a few minutes, then a waiter came and told them their table was ready.

  The main body of the restaurant was pleasantly filled without being crowded. It had the sort of cosmopolitan feel that reminded her of Brown’s. They sat down and studied the menu for a few moments.

&
nbsp; ‘What are you having?’ she asked. ‘You know it here.’

  ‘Snails, then grilled turbot,’ he said.

  She leaned forward. ‘What are snails like, honestly? I’ve never plucked up the courage to have them before.’

  ‘A bit like shellfish, I suppose. D’you want to try one of mine?’

  ‘No, it’s time to leap. I’ll have the rack of lamb to follow, though.’

  After the waiter had gone, he asked about her parents. She told him how her father had been a genuine cockney, but her mother was from Essex. ‘A noble lineage,’ she added.

  He laughed. ‘What did he do – your father?’ he asked.

  ‘A lathe operator in the railway works – until he got made redundant.’ She told him how he hadn’t been able to find another job, lost heart and how it had soured the family atmosphere. ‘What about you?’

  ‘Mum and Dad were both teachers, so I had it pretty cushy, really.’

  ‘Posh school?’

  ‘Grammar – if you call that posh.’

  ‘Some would.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Posher than mine.’

  The snails arrived, in a tangy red sauce. He showed her how to grip the shell with the tongs and winkle them out. She cautiously tried one.

  ‘What d’you think?’

  ‘Not bad…’

  He poured her more wine and asked if she thought she’d stay in Exeter. She said she hoped so, partly because she liked what she’d seen of the city, but also because she rather liked BTA –

  ‘What, even after Saturday night? Not to mention that last meeting…’

  She laughed. ‘Yes, even after all that. Talking of BTA,’ she said, thinking it was time she got down to business, ‘I heard on the news this morning that they’re increasing the overseas aid budget – did you hear it?’

  Had the slightest look of wariness come into his eyes?

  ‘Yes,’ he said lightly. ‘Maybe this bunch have got a conscience after all.’

  ‘Unless they’re doing for purely political reasons.’

  ‘Well, they are politicians,’ he agreed. Then, ‘So you think that we’re maybe halfway tolerable? BTA…’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said, then wrinkling her nose – ‘Maybe halfway, anyway.’

  ‘Well, there were certainly some whackos at the meeting.’