Girl Seven

by Hanna Jameson

  I was scared.

  ‘You’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine,’ I said to myself as I walked. ‘You’re not going to die. You’re not going to die. You’re not. You’re fine, you’re gonna be fine. You’re not going to die.’

  I glanced in the direction of Nic’s car as soon as I recognized the house.

  ‘Fuck... You’re not going to die. You’re not.’

  I jogged up and across their lawn, not looking in the direction of the silver Audi. I only stopped muttering to myself when I approached their door and, after standing there for a minute or so, rang their doorbell.

  Nic would be watching me, wondering what the fuck I was doing.

  What the fuck was I doing here? How had I got myself into this utter fucking mess? A joke. A joke about a password and now here I was. Well done, I thought. Well fucking done, Seven.

  I didn’t expect Neville’s wife to answer the door, but she did, with the chain on. I smiled at her. I saw the relief that crossed her face at the realization that I was a girl. Just a girl. She had a sweet face, with the sort of warm features a mother should have. Her dirty blonde hair was pulled up into a ponytail.

  ‘Hi, Mrs Hallam, is Mr Hallam in?’

  ‘He’s on the phone. Sorry, who are you?’

  ‘It’s about work, Mrs Hallam. It’s very urgent. I’m Noel Braben’s PA.’

  ‘Neville’s boss?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  She looked over her shoulder back into the house and then back to me, frowning. ‘It’s nine o’clock.’

  ‘I know. It’s really urgent. Not something he could have talked about over the phone.’ I shrugged, making myself seem small, harmless. ‘I really don’t mind if you want me to stay here until he’s free.’

  ‘... OK. What’s your name?’

  ‘Daisy.’

  ‘Daisy. OK, wait here.’

  The door shut.

  I waited, forcing myself not to look back at the car, nor catch Nic’s eyes. Neville would be more likely to recognize Daisy’s name than mine. She helped them more with the infamous ‘books’, after all. Give it a few years and she would probably be running the Underground herself. I took a step back and looked up the front wall of the house, at the bedroom windows. One light was on. Probably the teenager.

  If this didn’t work we were all going to die, I thought.

  The door opened again.

  Neville appeared, looked me up and down and said, ‘You’re not Daisy.’

  He wasn’t a tall guy but he had a military look about him. Military discharge maybe. Crew cut, couple of tattoos, a silver tooth, sensitive eyes.

  ‘I know, but you have to listen to me.’ I put a hand against the door in case he tried to slam it. ‘Your house is going to be raided in about ten minutes. You need to get everyone upstairs now and keep them quiet and out of sight, otherwise you’re all going to die. You get it?’

  I’d confirmed his worst-case scenario. With barely a hint of fear he pushed me off his doorstep so that he could move forwards and look up and down the road.

  ‘Who are you?’ he asked. ‘Why would Noel send you?’

  ‘Do you really think he’d come himself? Don’t worry, I can deal with this, I really can, but I need you to get your family upstairs now! Where’s the money?’

  ‘I’m not telling you! Fuck off, you think I can’t protect my own family?’

  ‘No.’ I ran up to the door and forced it open as he tried to shut it on me. ‘No, I don’t because I know these people: they will kill all of you. You think they’ll spare your kids? Your daughter, how old is she? Two? Well, they’ll kill her first just for the hell of it. They like that sort of thing.’

  ‘Don’t...!’ He pointed a finger at me. ‘Don’t talk about my girl like that!’

  ‘Look, Noel sent me because I know how to deal with them, OK? I’m kinda... I’m kinda undercover, OK? I might have to take the money and then bring it back but I can get them out of your house without them hurting anyone. I promise.’ I glanced over my shoulder. ‘Please hide everyone upstairs. You must have known there was some risk of this happening, right? Look...’ I jabbed my thumb out into the night. ‘Look, I know Nic Caruana is parked right over there and he’ll get involved if it comes to it. But if he comes over here it’s probably because someone’s dead, so let’s not encourage that.’

  ‘Caruana?’

  I nodded.

  He wanted to question me, I could tell. He wanted to ask why a tiny little girl was undercover with people who wanted to kill him. But he didn’t, he shouted to his wife and left the door open so I could follow him inside. I stood there rooted to the doormat and leaning against the back of the door, while the inevitable argument ensued in the living room to my left, out of sight.

  ‘Upstairs,’ he barked at her. ‘Now. Upstairs. Take Courts with you.’

  ‘But... Why? Who is she?’

  ‘It’s work. Please just... do as I fucking say, OK?’

  The little girl started crying.

  I ran my hands over my face and willed her to be quiet. I was sure I’d used up all my time already.

  There was a poem on the wall, written in embroidery, that looked as though it had been written by an elderly relative: ‘If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.’

  ‘Neville.’ His wife’s voice had become low and sharp.

  ‘Look, Caz, just fucking go! This is fucking serious, love! Like, life or death serious. Now get Courtney upstairs and shut her up!’

  Neville’s wife walked past me on her way to the stairs, red-faced and wishing death on me with her eyes. The girl was still crying.

  Neville followed her into the hallway and shouted upwards, ‘Tyler! Help your mum now! Now!’ He turned to me. ‘So exactly what’s going to happen here?’

  ‘You’re going to hide upstairs and two or maybe three men are going to come through the back door... very soon. I’ll tell them you’re all restrained in one of the bedrooms upstairs. Then we’ll take the money and I’ll bring it back to Noel tomorrow. Where is the money?... It’s not in a bedroom, is it?’

  ‘No, it’s...’ He stopped.

  I spread my hands. ‘You can either tell me now or have someone kill you for the answer when they get in here.’

  ‘I have a gun,’ he said. ‘Upstairs, in case this happened.’

  ‘Good for you.’

  ‘The money is behind the fireplace in there. It’s not a fireplace, there’s a panel that comes out.’

  I raised my eyebrows. ‘Wow, at least you didn’t pick somewhere too predictable.’

  ‘If I hear anyone coming up those stairs who doesn’t sound as if they have your little bird feet I’ll blow them to fuck.’

  I nodded, trying to hurry him along. ‘OK, OK, right. But please stay quiet.’

  Finally, he made his way up the stairs. I checked the living room first before walking forwards past the kitchen and into a dusty utility room, with a washing machine and a pile of shoes and an open door to a second toilet.

  I rested my hand on the backdoor key, hanging out of its lock, and turned it.

  There was no bag this time. I hadn’t even brought my gun with the single shot, choosing instead to leave it with Alexei, and it was too dangerous to bring my dagger. Being armed was too conspicuous and likely to be more a hindrance to my believability than a help. I couldn’t let Nic see that I was armed.

  He would be on the move by now, maybe watching from outside, but I had no idea when he’d choose to intervene.

  I walked back through to the hallway and sat on the bottom stair, away from any windows. Rocking a little, I tried to stay calm and not visualize every way this could go wrong. But there were so many ways. Too many.

  ‘Fuck,’ I muttered to myself as I heard the back door open. ‘OK, go.’

  Standing up, I met the two of them in the hall. Alexei looked distinctly less pleased to be here than Isaak, whom I had never seen so elated.

  ‘Where is it?’ Isaak
asked.

  ‘Behind the fireplace.’

  ‘And where are the family?’

  ‘I’ve tied them up in the bedroom upstairs.’

  ‘Right.’

  Isaak started up the stairs and I took his arm. ‘Wait! The money’s behind the fireplace in there.’

  ‘I know. We are not just here for the money.’

  ‘No... Wait!’ I pulled him back again, getting shrill. ‘They’re not even going to see you! I told you, I tied them up, why involve them?’

  ‘Because we don’t trust you.’ He smiled and pulled his arm out of my grip. ‘This isn’t just about the money. I want to see if you are as loyal as you always say you are.’

  ‘No, don’t! Come on, they’re just kids!’ I scrambled up the stairs after him. ‘Alexei, look! You’ve got kids, right? You don’t have to – Wait! No!’

  Someone fired a shot. I guessed it was Neville because the ceiling above my head chipped and I started down the stairs just as Isaak began yelling. Alexei grabbed me by the back of the neck and screamed at me, ‘What did you do? What the fuck did you do?’

  ‘He fucking shot me! He... Fuck!’

  Isaak was running down the stairs when Neville shot him in the back and his chest exploded outwards towards us. His body flopped down on to the banister and juddered the rest of the way down, with his head at an awkward angle and twitching.

  Alexei dragged me into the living room, gun out, close to my head.

  Neville shouted, ‘Get out here, you fucking coward!’

  I looked towards the barrel held against my eye and almost threw up.

  ‘You fucking bitch! You fucking bitch!’

  I was facing the window, waiting to see Neville appear in the doorway. If Alexei didn’t shoot me then Neville would, by accident. And where the fuck was Nic?

  There was silence outside the room.

  Muffled noises of skin scraping carpet, of Isaak slowly dying.

  ‘Come in here or I shoot her!’ Alexei snapped. ‘I blow her fucking brains out!’

  Silence.

  Neville said, ‘OK. OK.’

  ‘Put your gun down where I see... where I can see!’ Alexei pulled me backwards, and I could feel his heart pounding against my spine.

  Neville dropped his gun to the floor where we could both see it.

  Alexei glared at it for a while, breathing into my ear through his teeth. ‘OK. Now you come.’

  ‘Promise you won’t hurt my family!’

  ‘If you do not come, I kill your whole family!’

  I wondered if it hurt to be shot in the head. Was it how it looked in the movies? Instantaneous? Did you feel any pain as it went in? Even for a second, before it hit whatever nerves or cluster of blood vessels were responsible for making you register that kind of thing? Or did you linger, watching out of a useless skull for a few minutes before you went?

  Neville appeared in the doorway, hands first, hands in the air.

  ‘Move!’ Alexei gestured to his right.

  Neville took a few steps to his left. He didn’t look scared.

  Alexei laughed and pushed me towards Neville.

  I turned and froze, waited.

  ‘Now, I kill you!’ Alexei said, waiting for a moment as if to let the statement sink into me.

  Neville hadn’t looked scared...

  There was a shot, silenced and muffled. Alexei crumpled to the ground clutching his ankle. The gun fell from his hand and I kicked it away instead of picking it up but it didn’t matter because I looked to my left and Nic was standing in the living-room doorway with his gun trained on Alexei.

  ‘Fuck! Fuck! FUUUUCK!’

  There was blood on Alexei’s hands, which I realized was pulsing from his ankle. He writhed, curled into a ball, cursed, spat, started screaming in Russian...

  Neville ducked past the both of us and tore back up the stairs towards his family, glancing at me with barely concealed rage.

  Nic was standing there looking at me, waiting for some kind of reaction and suddenly I remembered what I had to do.

  Without exerting much effort, I burst into tears.

  ‘I’m sorry, I... I’m sorry, I just had to... I had to warn them!’ I hid my face in my hands, keeling over slightly. ‘I’m sorry... I’m sorry!’

  ‘Hey, it’s fine.’ Nic reached out to me with one hand and touched my shoulder, while keeping the gun on Alexei. ‘It’s OK.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for this! I... I’m sorry.’

  ‘I know, it’s OK.’

  Looking up at Alexei through my hands, I saw that he had started laughing. He was still holding his ankle, but now he was laughing up at the ceiling, manically, as if he no longer knew we were there.

  Nic took his hand off my shoulder and stood over him. ‘Who are you working for then?’

  Alexei just continued laughing.

  ‘Who are you working for?’ Nic asked again.

  Alexei didn’t stop laughing, but he looked past Nic straight at me.

  I thought for a second that he was going to say something, but he didn’t.

  He fumbled for the gun that he had strapped under a trouser leg and Nic shot him again through the side of the face. It fell out of his palm when he flattened to the red-spattered carpet in a collage of his own brain tissue. It was my gun with one shot that I’d left with him in the car.

  Nic shook his head. ‘Who the fuck carries a Derringer any more?’

  They were both dead.

  I stared at Alexei’s lifeless body.

  They were both dead.

  It was over.

  Nic reached out and tentatively touched my shoulder again. I didn’t expect he was the sort to give out hugs willingly. ‘It’s OK. Really, it’s OK, I know you were only trying to do the right thing. You were only trying to help them. This wasn’t your fault.’

  I nodded at him, but he was wrong. It was my fault. I’d almost had an entire family killed. I’d killed others. It was no one’s fault but mine. For a moment I wanted to tell him all of it but of course I didn’t, because there wouldn’t be any point now other than to ease my conscience – what little of it remained.

  Alexei and Isaak were probably going to end up in an unmarked grave, wherever Nic and Mark hid people once they were dead and had become objects.

  I wondered what Alexei’s family would think, whether they would ever know what had happened to him.

  Nic picked up the Derringer and put it in his pocket.

  ‘One for the collection,’ he muttered.

  I wanted to ask for it back but I couldn’t, so I watched him take my gun away. On my way out I paused by Isaak’s body at the bottom of the stairs. Looking back, I saw Nic crouched by Alexei, going through his pockets looking for identification or other clues.

  While he had his back to me, I swiftly crouched and took my passport out of Isaak’s pocket. With it clutched in my hand like a rosary, I went and sat in Nic’s car and had a panic attack hidden behind my hands.

  I was alive. I didn’t die.

  I counted to seven.

  32

  I’d kissed her before. In fact, we’d kissed a few times, but it never seemed to change anything between us. Things never got awkward.

  One thing I never told Mark about, because I hadn’t thought it was relevant at the time and I almost didn’t remember it, was the night I went around to Seiko’s house. I hadn’t planned to. It was late but I hadn’t wanted to stay inside.

  On my way to the kitchen for a drink I stopped, listened for a moment and then sat down on the stairs. My parents were talking at the kitchen table again, where they always sat for their big and serious adult conversations. But that wasn’t why I stopped. I wasn’t interested in their conversations. I stopped because I could hear my father crying.

  I’d never heard him cry before.

  It is one of the deepest forms of betrayal: when you finally witness one of your parents cry. Adults didn’t cry, I believed while growing up. I didn’t even think adults could
cry. That was why I forced myself to stop crying by the age of thirteen. It was something to grow out of.

  Hearing Dad crying, even though I had no idea what it was over, hurt me as much as if he had slapped me round the face.

  ‘I wish that...’

  That was all I heard of what Dad said.

  ‘I wish that...’

  I couldn’t quite hear what my mother was saying, so I turned and made my way back upstairs. Feeling unsafe, I packed an overnight bag and left the house without saying goodbye to either of them.

  I was too young to make the connection, but shortly after that we moved to London for the last time.

  While walking through Toshima-ku I texted Seiko to let her know that I was on my way. I couldn’t stay at home with that atmosphere creeping through the rooms, knowing that my father was crying downstairs.

  The draping overhead cables that criss-crossed above my head looked like spider webs in the glare of the street-lamps.

  Seiko let me in and hugged me, as she always insisted on doing even though I detested hugs.

  ‘Where are your parents?’ I asked, following her through to their TV room where she was watching something with Arnold Schwarzenegger in it.

  ‘Having dinner with their work friends in Shibuya. They said they would be back after I’d gone to sleep. What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing, it was just... My dad’s really upset about something and it freaked me out a bit.’ I sat down beside her on the hard floor in front of the sofa and chairs.

  The house was humid. It was the rainy season but I’d managed to get here without being drenched, an umbrella hanging from the crook of my arm.

  ‘You think it’s about money?’

  ‘No,’ I said, too quickly. ‘No. What makes you say that?’

  She shrugged.

  At fifteen we were too young to know how money worked. To us it was this fantastical thing that had made the parents of kids we knew at school have fights. The father of a boy in the year below us had hung himself last year and everyone said it was over money. There were rumours that it had been written in the note he’d left behind for his wife to find. After that, money had taken on connotations of evil to us. Too much of it or too little of it made people fight and kill themselves. You had to have just the right amount of money or things became bad. At that age I had no concept of the things my older self would do for money.