Peril

by Joss Stirling

  ‘Yeah, before the carbon tax sent prices soaring. Best thing they ever did though. Put a true price on saving the world.’ Theo placed her glass within reach. ‘So, how was your day? You didn’t get caught in that storm, did you?’

  Meri grimaced, remembering. ‘No. I was in Art.’

  ‘A couple of Tube stations went underwater again.’ He went out into the hall to collect the post she’d left on the mat, then sat down with his beer to look through the envelopes. ‘I think they’re going to have to give up on the Northern Line entirely. It’s costing a fortune to keep pumping it out.’

  ‘Anyone hurt?’

  ‘No. It was evacuated well in advance. We’re getting all too used to this situation. It’s bizarre how you can adapt even to the weirdest things. It’s hard to remember what life was like before the flood.’

  Meri stirred the onions and garlic mixture. Almost ready for the red lentils. The pile of little pulses reminded her of her pixelated picture. Maybe that had been her inspiration? She cooked with them often enough. Would Miss Hardcastle accept that as an explanation? ‘I did more on my painting today.’

  ‘That sounds fun.’

  ‘It wasn’t really. Miss thought it was rubbish.’

  ‘What! But you’re a brilliant artist!’ Theo banged down the beer bottle and froth bubbled out. ‘Right: I’m ringing the school. That teacher is an idiot.’

  Meri should’ve guessed this would be his response. ‘It’s OK. She kinda had a point. You see I was painting without wearing my glasses.’

  ‘Oh.’ Theo drew a circle in the spillage before mopping it up with a cloth. ‘I thought we agreed.’

  ‘Yes, but I can’t help how I see. I was doing what you suggested: living a little. It feels so strange painting with all the colours dulled down to nothing.’

  ‘That’s not how the rest of us perceive it. What you see with them on is what the rest of us see all the time.’

  Meri poured the lentils, a tiny avalanche, into the frying pan. ‘I know.’

  ‘Those lenses cut out the UV, making your sight more normal.’

  Meri closed her eyes for a moment. ‘Maybe I don’t want normal. It’s hard to explain to you but colours to me are so…so alive. It’s like every single one has an entire rainbow of potential in it. And then there are shades you can’t even see that I lack the words to describe. Peril is such a pretty colour, like blue but not blue. Oh, I don’t know how to say this.’

  Theo held the stem of the bottle to his lips. ‘You make me wish I could see that way. I’m trying to imagine. It’s like describing music to someone who is deaf from birth: I can get the vibrations but not the full experience.’

  ‘That’s it exactly.’ She flashed him a grin. ‘You are such a cool guardian, Theo.’

  ‘Why thank you.’ He raised the beer in a toast. ‘And you are a very cool foster daughter. So what did you do when your teacher said it was, you know?’

  ‘She didn’t actually say it was rubbish. I’m just paraphrasing her words.’

  ‘Pleased to hear it. Crappy teaching method if she had.’

  ‘She told me to start again and paint over it if I couldn’t afford another canvas.’

  ‘Ah.’ Theo put down the beer and shuffled the letters. Quite a few of them were bills.

  ‘But it’s OK. A boy in my class bought it off me instead so I’ll get the money for a new canvas. He said he liked it. In fact, he said he could see what I was trying to do.’

  Theo looked up, intrigued. ‘Do you think he really could?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘See it. Because if he did, then that’s really interesting.’

  ‘You mean, he might be like me?’

  ‘It’s possible. Or he could just be saying that to chat you up. If so, I must commend him on his tactics because, from that soppy smile on your face, I’d say he was succeeding.’

  ‘Oh, stop it!’ Meri added the vegetables and stock to the pan, turning that over in her mind. She wasn’t sure if she wanted Kel to have done it because he liked her rather than because he appreciated her art. The best outcome would be if it had been both.

  Theo opened a bill and grimaced. ‘Anything else happen today?’

  ‘I took your advice and exhibited my charming self to some of the guys on the bus this morning. You’re right: it quickly weeds out the feeble types.’ Not that Lee was feeble, but he wasn’t friend material either.

  ‘Good on you, girl. Ah, a letter for Miss Meredith Marlowe no less.’ He handed over the white envelope. The weight of the paper was a sort rarely seen in modern London. The king probably had a stack tucked away in the attics of Buckingham Palace but few others did. ‘Looks like it took a couple of decades reaching you. Love the touch of the wax seal—never seen that before.’

  ‘What fun. Who on earth would be writing to me? I feel like Harry Potter. Will you take over stirring while I open it? Wouldn’t want to get tomatoes all over my first proper letter.’

  They switched places. Meri slid her fingers under the flap, broke the seal and pulled out the folded insert.

  ‘So is it Hogwarts?’

  ‘Sadly not.’ She read it slowly because at first it didn't make sense.

  Dear Miss Marlowe,

  I was instructed by my late clients, Dr Blake Marlowe, and Mrs Naia Marlowe, that in the event of our firm not hearing anything from them for seven years, I was to presume they were deceased and wind up their affairs. This was done seven years ago and the money held in trust for you until such time as you reach eighteen. Your guardian was informed of these proceedings.

  Meri’s delight in receiving a letter vanished. ‘Theo, did you know about this?’ She waved it at him.

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘That Messers Rivers, Brook and Linton of,’ she checked the address, ‘Charterhouse Square, have decided my parents are dead?’

  Theo turned down the biogas flame and put a lid on the pan. ‘Yes. The money is with a firm of investment managers and doing quite nicely considering the fluctuations in the stock exchange.’

  ‘When were you going to tell me?’

  ‘When you turned eighteen. Looks like they beat me to it by a few days. It’s not a huge amount but it’s a nest egg, something to help with college fees in a few years when you’ve done your time in the ecological service.’

  Meri grimaced at the unwelcome reminder. All eighteen to twenty-year-olds had to serve two years of national service unless they were going into one of the protected professions, like medicine, army or the police. Jobs usually revolved around the coast or big rivers, building flood defences. Theo had tried to tell her it would be fun, a seaside adventure, but he hadn't had to do it when he was growing up so wasn’t speaking from experience. Of course he hadn’t: it was her generation who had got landed with the environmental bill. Meri returned to her letter.

  Part of our instructions was to send a message to you in two instalments. Your parents specified this unusual procedure because they did not want to put all the information in one place and would only allow a single physical copy of each. Following their instructions, I request that you collect the first in person and sign for it in front of witnesses. I have arranged for the second to be sent on to me by courier from our office in New York. I will notify you when it arrives so that you can return to receive it, again this must be in person.

  ‘They have some messages for me and want me to go to them,’ Meri explained. ‘Bit over the top, isn’t it? Two messages in separate places?’

  Theo shrugged. ‘I’d agree if it wasn’t for the issue of Blake and Naia’s disappearance. We’ve been keeping a low profile for years but who knows if anyone is watching?’

  The old-fashioned seal on the outside of the envelope made sense now. Digital communications were notoriously hackable; pen and paper had made a comeback for really private matters. She couldn’t imagine any spy who might have planned to steam open the envelope being equipped to replace a very distinctive seal. Still, it seemed a very fragile thing
to carry such an important message.

  ‘He’s left me a number to call. I might have to miss school.’

  ‘Every cloud has a silver lining.’ Theo got out the lasagne dish and tipped in the first layer of mix. ‘Have to say I think you should go soon or I’ll burst with curiosity. If they can see you tomorrow, I’ve a lunch meeting at the Barbican and can go with you. Would you like that?’

  ‘Thank you. Yes, I would.’

  Between them, they finished layering the lentils, pasta and cheese and put it in the oven.

  Theo stretched his lanky arms over his head. ‘We’ve got forty-five minutes. Want to go for a run?’

  Meri had successfully ducked organised sport at school so thought it a bit much her guardian had put her on the spot. ‘Tragically, I’m not sure there’s time.’

  ‘Meri, whose New Year’s Resolution was it not to be such an exercise shirker?’

  ‘You’re not going to let me forget that.’ Theo had pinned her unwise pledge to the fridge back in January and got her to sign it. ‘OK, a short one.’

  ‘Just think how much nicer that lasagne will taste.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah.’

  ‘It will.’

  ‘I’m going, I’m going.’ Meri picked up the letter and took it into her bedroom to get changed. She tucked it into Jane Eyre on the nightstand. A message from her parents. It sounded a little creepy, voices from beyond the grave. But maybe, finally, she’d get some answers to the many questions that surrounded her. There had been no relatives to ask, just Theo who had known little more than she did. He was right though: she had to go tomorrow or she wouldn’t be able to relax.

  One of the quickest ways to get to Charterhouse Square from Wimbledon was to use the Thames bus service. Since the river had burst its banks five years ago in the last great flood of that year, many of the old routes had disappeared and Londoners had gone back to the water. Some bridges were in the process of being replaced by cable cars and the one at Putney was still under construction. Theo and Meri joined the queue to get on the next boat.

  ‘Nervous?’ Theo asked. He was looking unusually smart having got out his one suit and accessorised it with a thin tie. He looked a little like a throwback to the 1960s. All he needed was a Liverpudlian accent and a guitar and he’d make his fortune as a tribute band singer.

  ‘Yes. Very.’

  The conductor issued them with life jackets as they boarded. The tidal Thames had become a wild river since it overwhelmed its embankment. The mayor had ordered new safety procedures after a fatal shipwreck on one of the old bridge piers last year. Only expert pilots were now allowed to command a vessel, much to the disgust of the unregulated river cab companies that had flourished for a few years before being put out of business.

  Meri chose a seat near the lifeboats. Theo, more used to this mode of travel, sat next to her and got out his newspaper to do the crossword. That left her to watch the scenery pass without the distraction of conversation. From the jiggle of his leg, she could tell that Theo was nervous too and was using the puzzle as a means of stopping himself saying anything he would later regret. They had no idea what was going to be in that message so there was little point speculating. Meri got out her pocket sketchbook, her usual way of turning nerves into something more productive

  Their river bus passed the floating village of Chelsea. She tried a quick sketch of horizontal lines of the boats and the fairground feel of the strings of flags threaded between the boats, many of them fluttering with peril between the ordinary oranges, reds and blues. That was odd. You didn’t normally see so much of the colour in one place. When the big houses of Chelsea had gone under, poorer folk had moved in, mooring houseboats and rafts together to make a precarious slum. The squatters had broken in to the upper floors of the tallest houses where they were still above the surface, using them for storage and, if pressed for space, for living quarters. Washing lines and makeshift power cables looped between the buildings. The mayor had said many times he considered it an eyesore. A few landlords who had owned the ground under the water had tried to levy a rent but that had got nowhere. The slum remained. People had to live somewhere with so much housing lost.

  Rounding another bend, the old Houses of Parliament appeared. Meri turned a page in her sketchbook, pleased to see Big Ben was still standing despite its foundations being submerged. A big friendly circle for the face, gothic turrets like squirrel ears pricked to alert position. Squatters had moved into the top floors of the parliament building but it had to be fairly grim living there with no power and the lower floors flooded. The MPs had moved away completely, taking over the Central Library building in Birmingham. People in the regions had complained for decades that they hated being ruled from Westminster and now, thanks to the changing climate, they weren’t.

  Looking towards the other side of the river, Meri couldn’t see anything she felt like sketching. How sad it was that so many historic sites on the South Bank were entirely gone. The water had encroached much further that way due to the low-lying ground. The once vibrant cultural heart of London and several key railway stations had all been inundated; the London Eye had been disassembled and put in storage until a new embankment could be constructed on the shoreline. She missed the carnival feel the Eye had brought to this part of London. The upper floors and flat top of the National Theatre remained, now a favourite mooring spot for boats. One enterprising business advertised scuba diving in the flooded ruins but how much anyone would see in the murky Thames was debatable.

  The bus pulled into the north shore. Tucking the sketchpad back in her bag, Meri followed Theo up the gangplank as they got out at the stop near St Paul’s. They walked the rest of the way to Charterhouse Square, her quick steps keeping up easily with his more bouncy stride. They were used to striding in sync. The financial district held on just to the east of this area thanks to the expensive flood defences the bankers had built around the tower blocks and Liverpool Street Station. Rich financiers were still able to zip into town on Crossrail from their mansions in the Home Counties, carrying on making money like it was still the 2010s. People in Wapping had claimed the defences had diverted the river to make the flooding worse in the East End but, as the financiers had rehoused the mayor in a swanky new office right in their midst, those complaints had gone unanswered.

  ‘I went on the protest march about that,’ Theo commented, pointing to the huge new dike, an ugly construction of concrete blocks like the old Berlin wall dividing the climate haves and have-nots. ‘The police used water cannon on us. You have to love the irony.’

  Turning into Charterhouse Square was to walk into one of the few places that had escaped change. The luxury flats and offices and the ancient school buildings still occupied their old places. The plane trees of the square looked a little battered by storms but were still standing, hand-shaped leaves fluttering like an enthusiastic audience in rapturous applause. Electric cars on charge lined the curbs. Messrs Rivers, Brook and Linton even had a brass plaque on the red brick walls beside their black front door. Theo rang the bell and the lock buzzed.

  He pushed the heavy door open. ‘Ready?’

  Vulturelike foreboding flapped wings in Meri’s chest. ‘I suppose I have to be.’

  A cool foyer greeted them with pale yellow tiles and a black cage lift like something out of a retro-detective series. They eventually managed the complicated opening and closing of the two layers of lift-doors in the right order, then Meri selected the second floor.

  ‘It’s only two floors. We could’ve used the stairs,’ she said.

  ‘And missed this?’

  They smiled at each other. Sometimes, Meri thought, they acted more like best mates than guardian and ward.

  With a creak and a groan of ancient machinery they rose slowly up the building. When they opened the cage on the correct level, they were confronted by yet another door.

  ‘I can see why my parents chose these people for their secrets. No modern fishbowl digi-cubicals, no sign of a
nyone. I feel like I’ve travelled back in time,’ mused Meri.

  ‘Maybe if we’re lucky they’ll charge old fashioned prices.’ Theo pressed another buzzer.

  ‘You mean, we have to pay?’

  ‘Meri, these are lawyers. The seas may rise, the ice may melt, but we still have to pay them just to breathe in our company.’

  ‘But can we afford it?’

  ‘I guess we can take this as a charge on your inheritance. Is that OK?’

  Meri nodded. Of course Theo shouldn’t bear the costs of her parents’ choice of messenger. He’d already sacrificed so much to accommodate her.

  ‘Miss Marlowe? And this must be Mr Woolf?’ The woman who opened the door was a slim grey-suited individual who looked like she did not know what a smile was, let alone allow something so unsophisticated on her face.

  ‘Yeah, that’s us, darlin’,’ said Theo a little too cheerfully.

  ‘Please come in and take a seat. Mr Rivers will see you momentarily.’ The lady disappeared down a corridor with a tap-tap of her high stilettos.

  ‘Darlin’?’ whispered Meri. ‘When since have you been so “cor, blimey, guv?”’

  Theo winked at Meri. ‘She liked it. A bit of the old Cockney charm. But did Miss Fancy Pants mean he’d see us soon or that he’d see us for a moment only? Oh, the danger of unclear grammar!’

  ‘Contain yourself, Theo Woolf; you’re not to get us chucked out of here for being an annoying syntactical know-it-all.’

  They had been left in a brightly lit waiting room. An elegant bow window dominated the longest side. An Art Deco fireplace held up by sinuous robed ladies graced the wall opposite the reception desk. A delicate arrangement of twig and single flower sat on a low coffee table between the butter-coloured leather armchairs. Meri found the atmosphere both intimidating and beautiful. She looked down at her jeans and canvas plimsols and realized she had made the wrong selection of outfit.

  ‘So who’s going to come through that door, do you think? Professor Dumbledore?’ teased Theo, trying to lighten the atmosphere.