Balancing Act

by Rachel Churcher

  She glances around the café, at the empty tables between us and the counter, and drops her voice to a whisper.

  “The target. Will you show me the target?”

  My headache kicks up a level. I put down my knife and fork, grateful for an excuse to stop eating.

  “Emma,” I say, leaning across the table to take her hand in mine. “You know I can’t do that. We don’t have the final target until …” I shrug. It’s a lie, but she doesn’t need to know.

  “Until when?” She’s looking at me, her fingers gripping mine. “When are we doing this?”

  I shrug again. “A month. Maybe two. I’ll keep in touch by phone, just like I did before I got here.”

  She nods, and looks down at her plate. “I just … I want to know what you’re expecting us to do. I want to know that we’ll be safe.”

  I smile. “Emma.” She looks up. “I’m not going to ask you to do anything you’re not trained to do. We’ve been through all of this. You know how you’re going to escape detection. You know how to build the bombs – and you have your own offshore workshop to make sure the neighbours don’t get curious. You’ve got this.”

  “You’ll give us the target? You’ll be the one phoning us?” I nod, and she closes her eyes, her fingers gripping mine. “So why do you have to go, David? Why can’t you stay?”

  I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes. As tempting as it is to stay here, to keep up the pretence and steal an extra month with this woman, I have to go. Lee needs me. The Terrorism Committee needs me.

  And I want to get back to Ketty Smith.

  “You’re not the only cell in the country,” I say, gently. “There are other people who need my help. If we’re going to fight back – if we’re going to make this mean something – I need to be out there, helping everyone.”

  She brushes a tear from her eyelashes. “So we can’t stay in touch?”

  I shake my head. “You know how this works. We can’t risk phone chatter. If we keep talking to each other, the government could pick that up. We could all end up in prison cells, and we’d lose our chance to fight back.”

  She nods, and drops my hand. It’s a moment before she speaks again.

  “So do you do this everywhere? Shack up with someone from the cell you’re working with?”

  I reach out to take her hands again, but she pushes them into her lap.

  “Of course not,” I say, doing my best to sound hurt. And it’s true – I don’t usually meet the cells I work with. It’s not normally an option.

  She uses the sleeve of my hoodie to wipe tears from her eyes, and I have to take a breath. This is getting painfully close to girlfriend drama – I can almost hear Lydia laughing at me.

  This is where I usually walk away, but Emma isn’t disposable yet. I need to keep her committed to the cell, and to the mission.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean … I thought you understood. I’m here for a month, and then …”

  “We’re on our own?”

  I nod, watching her reaction. “You’re on your own. You don’t need me. You’re ready to use your training, and make a difference.”

  She presses her hands against her eyes, and bows her head.

  I want to run. I want to end this, now. I want to show her that she means nothing – that there’s no happy ever after here. I want slamming doors and thrown drinks. A line she can’t cross.

  But I can’t. I have to stay. I have to fix this, and keep her on my side.

  “We’re part of something bigger, you and me,” I say, reaching across the table again. “The resistance is more important than either of us.”

  Another line I’ve used before. Another lie to inspire doubting bombers.

  She takes my hand in both of hers, stroking my fingers. “I know. It’s just …” She shrugs. “I know.”

  Something’s not right. I’m hungover, and I’m not thinking straight, but this isn’t the person who invited herself into my bed. This isn’t the team member who stood up to her friends and made sure they did what I asked them to do.

  I shake my head, thinking about last night – Jen’s comment, that it was Emma who volunteered to seduce me – and I have to stop myself from laughing. I don’t believe she’s fallen for me – last night she was searching the cottage for evidence against me.

  This is all part of her performance. She’s very good.

  This isn’t real. This isn’t drama – it’s manipulation, and it’s working.

  I need to remember why I’m here. No more celebrations. No more parties. No more letting Emma dictate what happens between us.

  She might be dangerous, but so am I. From now on, I need to make sure I’m the one in control.

  Shelter

  The deck of the Lindisfarne Lady is tilting like a rollercoaster under my feet as we push away from the shore. Every wave brings a new shower of freezing salt water, stinging my eyes and soaking the neck of my fleece jacket. I’ve borrowed Said’s oilskins – another purchase from Lee’s Canterbury fund – but they’re not enough to keep me dry as the water surges around me. I tighten my grip on the guard rail and stare out at the horizon, taking deep breaths to steady my stomach.

  Jen stands beside me, her gloved fists locked on the rail and her knees bending with every roll of the boat.

  She’s grinning.

  “This is amazing, David!” She shouts over the wind. “Thank you!”

  I shrug, ducking my head as a wall of water breaks against my chest. I hope I don’t look as sick as I feel.

  Somewhere behind me, Kieran is checking out the captain and his son. They’re in the wheelhouse, shielded from the weather. I should be there with them, making introductions and steering the conversation, but I’m learning that I’m a terrible sailor. I couldn’t stay inside the moving box of the cabin – I needed the fresh air and the sky, so here I am – cold and wet and wishing I’d never agreed to rent a boat.

  Jen looks happier than I’ve ever seen her.

  “This won’t work, you know,” I shout back. “Building bombs in a storm? That’s a terrible idea.”

  “Don’t worry, David.” She puts one hand on my shoulder, digging her fingers in as the next wave hits. “Niall and Simon have a plan. They’re taking us somewhere sheltered.”

  I don’t know whether to be relieved or concerned that she’s on first-name terms with the crew already. I should be pleased – they have to work together when I’m back in London – but I feel as if this mission is slipping out of my hands.

  *****

  By the time Niall cuts the engine and Simon checks the anchor, we are in calmer waters. I have no idea where we are, but we’ve rounded a headland and we’re out of the wind. I don’t know how long we’ve been moving, but the collar of my fleece is heavy with water, and every step feels as if I’m drunk.

  Simon walks past us on his way back to the wheelhouse, and laughs when he sees my face.

  “Cup of tea, David?” He asks, smiling. “You look as if you need it.”

  “Come on.” Jen grabs my elbow and pulls me across the deck. “Come and see where we’ll be working.”

  Behind the wheelhouse, there’s a cabin with a kitchen, plastic-covered bench seating, and a dining table. It’s cramped, but there are seats for all of us at the table. There’s enough space for the suitcases and the equipment – I checked that before I made the deal – but it’s good to see that there is also space to work, now that the cabin is full of people.

  Simon puts a mug of milky tea in front of me. “Sugar?” He asks, and I nod. I don’t usually drink tea, and I never take sugar, but I need to warm up and calm my stomach. I need comfort food. I’m still adjusting to the motion of the cabin – it’s nothing like the crests and falls of the open sea, but there’s a gentle roll, reminding me that I’m not on dry land.

  I stop him after the third sugar lump and stir the drink before wrapping my freezing fingers round the mug and taking a sip. It’s disgusting, but it’s warm.

 
; Kieran laughs. “You look rough, David. Not a fan of boats?”

  I shake my head and try to smile. He laughs again. “You look green, mate,” he says, and there’s a smug grin on his face. I picture a prison van, pulling up outside his house in the middle of the night. Cameras from PIN tracking his bare-foot walk as the soldiers drag him from his bed. It’s petty, but it makes me feel better. It’s something I can control.

  Niall leans against the cupboards across from the table, his own mug cradled in his hands.

  “Will this do?” He asks, indicating the cabin, and the water beyond.

  Kieran nods. “I reckon so.” He puts his hands flat against the table. “Not too much movement. I think we can work here.”

  Jen gives him a warm smile. “It’s great, Niall,” she says. “Thank you.”

  The captain nods. “Thank the cheerful landlubber,” he says, pointing at me. “He’s the one paying the bills.”

  *****

  I’m anything but cheerful. I finish my tea and rest my head on the table, trying to keep track of the conversation around me. All I want to do is go home and crawl into bed. I need sleep, and I need a room that isn’t in constant motion. I can hear the water, sloshing against the hull of the boat, and I realise it’s a sound I never want to hear again.

  Jen and her friends can have their boat. I’m going back to London. I don’t want to meet any of these people again.

  The trip back to Whitstable is worse than the journey out. Jen holds my shoulders when I lose my tea over the rail, waves smashing into the side of my face as I throw up into the storm. She wraps her arms round me and rubs my back, keeping us both standing on the heaving deck.

  In spite of myself, I’m wondering what would have happened if Jen had accepted my invitation, the first night she drove me home. What it would have been like to wake up with her dark hair and quiet intelligence for the past few weeks, instead of Emma’s energy and freckles and manipulation.

  And then I remember Jen, in my living room in the middle of the night. Joking with Emma about me, and how much she’d made me drink. Driving past me on my street in the dark. And Kieran, looking out for her at our first meeting.

  This team has run rings around me, from the moment we met. They knew what they wanted, and they made sure I gave it to them.

  I’m glad we’re working towards the same thing. This attack? This will be the biggest target I’ve worked on. This will be a game-changer for the Home Forces. We’ll be able to bring in new restrictions – take the UK even further from democracy – and the citizens will beg us to do it. Beg us to make them feel safe.

  I’m more relieved than I’ve ever been when Niall turns the boat towards the harbour and takes us out of the storm.

  *****

  I stand on the quayside, bent double, my hands on my knees for support. I’m so cold that I can’t imagine ever being warm again. I want to sleep for days. My stomach makes it very clear that I should not be thinking about eating, ever. The solid ground under my feet feels as if it’s moving.

  “Come on, Landlubber.” Jen puts a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s get you home.”

  Kieran stays on the boat to talk to Niall and Simon, so Jen leads me to her car and opens the passenger door for me.

  “You look awful,” she says, as she climbs in next to me and starts the engine. I manage a grunt in response, and she laughs.

  I lean my head against the window and watch the buildings and the beach huts flash past as she drives me along Marine Parade. I make myself take deep breaths, and keep an eye on the horizon. Another moving box is not what I need right now.

  I manage to calm my stomach until she pulls up and parks outside the cottage.

  “Need a hand?” She says, turning to look at me.

  “Oilskins,” I say, waving a hand at my front door. “You need to take them.”

  “Right,” she says, releasing her seatbelt, and mine. I tumble out of the door, and search my pockets for the key.

  She’s clearly nervous, walking into my space. I have to remind myself that she’s been here before. And I have to remind myself that I’m not supposed to know about her night-time visit. I hold the door open for her, and show her through into the living room.

  “Do you mind if I …” I wave a hand at my clothes. Oilskins, gloves, hopelessly wet fleece.

  She shakes her head “No! Of course!”

  I head to the bathroom, and peel off everything I’m wearing. Boots, socks, waterproofs, layers. I need a hot shower, but I need to deal with Jen first. I fold up Said’s oilskins, wrap a towel round my hips, and open the door.

  Might as well show her what she turned down.

  She looks up, and looks quickly away, her cheeks turning scarlet. I hand her the wet oilskins, and she takes them, looking everywhere but at me.

  “Hold on,” I say. “Let me fetch the rest.” She makes a high-pitched sound that I assume is agreement. The floor feels unsteady under my feet, and my face feels as if it’s been sandblasted by the waves, but I can’t help smiling as I walk to the bedroom.

  I take pity on Jen and pull on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, before gathering up the plastic-wrapped waterproofs for the rest of the team. She lets out a breath when she sees I’m dressed, and holds out her arms for the brightly coloured clothing.

  “Thanks,” she says, checking that everyone’s kit is in the pile.

  “Anything else I can do for you, Jen?” I ask, trying not to smirk.

  “I should get these back home.” She says too quickly, holding up the bundle in her arms. “Thanks, though. For the boat.” I nod. “It’s exactly what we need.”

  “You’re welcome,” I say, as sincerely as I can.

  “One more thing …” she says, as she’s heading for the door. She turns to look at me. “You’ll do something nice for Emma, won’t you? Before you leave?” I shrug, and she shakes her head. “David. She’s really upset that you’re going.”

  “She knew this wouldn’t be …” Jen cuts me off.

  “I know she did. But what looks like a good idea at the start – it doesn’t necessarily feel that way at the end. Do you understand?”

  I nod, and give her a smile, but this sounds uncomfortably like girlfriend drama.

  “Promise me?”

  “Sure,” I say, trying to sound generous. “I promise.” I only need to keep Emma happy for another five days. I can manage that.

  Jen smiles. “Thank you. I know it will mean a lot to her.”

  Exhaustion kicks in as I close the door on Jen, and on a day I’d rather forget. I drag myself back to the bathroom and run the shower until it fills the room with steam. I throw my jeans and T-shirt onto the floor with the rest of my clothes and step in. I don’t come out until I’ve banished the cold from my bones and the salt from my skin. And then I fall into bed and sleep.

  Ending

  “Corporal Conrad.” Lee does not sound happy to hear from me.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Final day in sunny Kent?” I try not to laugh. The sky is heavy with dark clouds, and I’m wrapped in winter layers and waterproofs. I’m thankful that the phone booth is sheltering me from the wind.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Is everything ready?”

  “Yes, Sir. The team is prepared. The boat is paid for until March.” I smile. It feels good to be reporting a successful mission. “The volunteers know what they’re doing.”

  “We can leave them to complete this on their own? Without your charming influence?” He’s smirking again.

  “Yes, Sir. No further visits necessary.”

  “Good work, Corporal. We could use some positive news today.”

  “Thank you, Sir. Is everything OK? Anything I need to know about?”

  There’s a pause, while Lee takes a long breath.

  “She’s put the drunk on the committee,” he says eventually. He sounds furious.

  “She? Franks?”

  The line is silent while he waits for me to figure out what he’
s said.

  I feel as if the ground is dropping under my feet.

  “Bracken? Bracken’s on the committee?”

  “Despite your best efforts, Corporal Smith and Colonel Bracken are now part of our happy family.”

  He’s angry. He’s blaming me. He’s making this my fault. I couldn’t charm Ketty, so Bracken is enjoying a promotion. I’m wincing as he spells it out for me.

  “Sir, I …”

  “I don’t need a speech from you, Corporal. I need you back in the office.”

  There’s a click as the line goes dead.

  *****

  I’ve spent the last few days making sure everyone understands their roles for the mission. I won’t be coming back to Canterbury, so I need to make sure the bombing will happen without me. Jen and Kieran have stepped up, taking on the leadership of the group, and I’m certain they’re ready to follow my orders, when the time comes.

  Lee is right – whatever is going on at the Home Forces, this is good news. We’re ready to launch an attack that will change the balance of power in the UK. I’ve trained my team, and given them everything they need. They’re primed, and waiting for my orders.

  It feels good, this control over their lives. The way they’ve brought me into the group. The way they’ve kept each other safe as they take orders from me.

  I can’t stop smiling as I tidy the cottage and pack my clothes into my rucksack. The Terrorism Committee will thank me for this. Franks will thank me.

  I’m going up in the world.

  *****

  Emma is … complicated.

  We’ve kept each other awake every night, her attentions growing more intense the closer I come to going home.

  I can’t complain. A willing girl in my bed is definitely not a problem. But during the day? She’s clingy. Demanding.

  Awkward.

  Last night I woke up to the sound of sobs, loud in the dark bedroom. She buried her face in her pillow, and I lay still and faked sleep.

  This is too much drama for me.