The Division Bell Trilogy

by Rachel McLean

  Now even Yusuf was affected.

  “No, Yusuf,” she said. “You didn’t. You really didn’t. People needed you. They still do. Yes, we have to help Samir. We have to get him out. But that doesn’t come at the expense of who we are.”

  He gave her a sad smile. “Since when did you get so wise?”

  “Since I spent four months locked up trying to convince a psychiatrist that I loved a government that I really hate. Since I saw what they’re doing to anyone who doesn’t comply.”

  “OK. But I still don’t think she’ll do anything. We have to find another way to get Samir out.”

  “Just wait. For a few days. I’ll go back down there. Maggie said she’d help.”

  “Good old Maggie.”

  Yusuf leaned in and kissed her. She let the warmth of his touch flow over her. She brought her hands up to his arms and gripped his flesh.

  Yusuf pulled back.

  “What?” Jennifer asked, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

  He sprang up from the bed and darted to the door. He grabbed his dressing gown.

  “What is it?” she asked. Her lips felt tender from the depth of their kiss. “What? What have I done?”

  He looked past her at the alarm clock. It was almost midnight.

  “Did you hear that?” he said.

  “Hear what?”

  He opened the door, peering out into the dark hallway.

  “There’s someone knocking on our door.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  It was getting dark. Rita had managed to avoid detection near the motorway and had stumbled across fields for an hour or two, trying to get her bearings.

  Now she was at the edge of a village. Did she dare to knock on a door and ask for shelter? She was a criminal on the run. Her face would be all over the news.

  She sat next to the sign announcing the village boundary, staring at the dark houses. There was no sign of life; no cars passing, no one walking to the village pub. The place could have been abandoned for all she could tell.

  There was a bus shelter, a few houses along. She crept to it. She tried to make herself comfortable, attempting to lie between the seats and failing. Two cars swept past, bathing her in light. She wondered if their occupants could see her, if they might recognise her.

  She had to move.

  She heaved her sore muscles off the bench and clambered down a grassy bank behind the bus stop, her arms flailing to keep her balance as she picked up speed. She hadn’t realised how steep it was.

  At the bottom she paused to catch her breath, her breath foggy in the cold air. The stars were bright above her, casting the field in a pale glow.

  She squinted to see what shelter she might find.

  There was a barn at one side of the field below her, little more than a dull grey shape nestled among trees. It had no doors. If it was a house, it wouldn’t be occupied.

  She hurried towards it, anxious to be somewhere sheltered. The sky was clouding over now and she felt a spot of rain hit the back of her neck.

  At the barn she stopped. If there were animals in there, they might not be pleased to see her.

  She squinted into the dark space, feeling more rain hit her head and shoulders. It was too dark inside for her to see anything, but she couldn’t make out any movement.

  She stepped forwards. A bright light flashed in her eyes.

  She threw her arms above her head, feeling foolish and scared in equal measure.

  “Who are you?” came a voice. It sounded like a man, tired, maybe sick. He had an accent. Pakistani?

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ll go.”

  She turned and headed back for the field, trying to see the road. But the echo of that light was in her eyes still, and the world was black.

  “Who are you?’

  The voice sounded different now. Higher pitched, and less close. He’d followed her outside.

  “Daddy?”

  Rita froze. A farmer guarding his barn was one thing. A Pakistani farmer was another. But a Pakistani farmer with a young child, out here in the dark?

  She turned back to the light, breathing heavily.

  “I was just looking for shelter,” she said.

  The man had flicked out the light now, and she could see his shape in the darkness. He was medium height and skinny. Half starved, by the look of it. A little girl huddled next to him, clinging to his waist like it was a lifebelt.

  “You won’t find any here,” he said.

  She nodded. Were they like her? Fugitives? She thought of all the anti-Islamic laws that had been introduced, the deportations. Her heart sank.

  “I’ll leave you alone,” she said. “I won’t tell anyone I saw you.”

  “No. Go.”

  She heard another voice, a woman, then the piercing shriek of a baby’s cry. She took a step forward, instinct overcoming fear.

  “I said go,” the man said. Rita’s eyes had adjusted to the low light now. She could see his face. Deep lines ran down his cheeks. His eyes looked hollowed out, like they might sink into his skull. The little girl was wearing a pink dress, heavily stained and torn at the collar.

  How long had they been here?

  The man stepped forward and Rita retreated.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I’ll go.”

  She turned and ran, trying not to imagine that poor woman trying to keep a baby alive in a cold barn.

  Chapter Twenty

  Jennifer stumbled down the stairs behind Yusuf. She was still dressed for Westminster, and almost fell as her tights slipped on the worn carpet.

  When she reached the front door Yusuf was already standing on the driveway.

  “Who is it? What’s happened?” She wrapped her arms around his waist from behind. He felt stiff.

  Blue lights reflected off the houses. A policewoman in uniform stood in front of Yusuf, a clipboard in hand.

  Jennifer stepped forward to face her. “What’s happening?”

  The policewoman looked from Yusuf to Jennifer, recognition crossing her face.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, madam. We’re looking for a fugitive. A young woman.”

  “Who?”

  The woman looked at her clipboard. “Her name is Lavonia Taylor. She lives at number sixteen.”

  Jennifer looked past her. Two police cars were parked at angles outside number sixteen, ten doors down. A crowd had gathered in the front garden: two police detectives, two uniformed officers, and a middle-aged couple, huddled together. Lavonia’s parents. Jennifer had met the mother, Celeste, back when she’d been an MP. She’d needed help with a council tax error. The father was quiet and despite living in the same street for over five years had never acknowledged her. After the first year, she’d given up trying.

  “A fugitive, you say? You mean she’s gone missing?”

  “No. An officer arrived at the house at—” she checked her watch, “—eleven thirty-eight. She answered the door and ran straight past him. We’re searching neighbouring gardens and outbuildings. Houses, too. We need permission to—”

  “Hang on. So you came to arrest her?”

  Jennifer tried to remember the girl. She was a bright, cheerful kid with plump cheeks and hair that had been arranged differently every time Jennifer saw her. Her mother was proud of her, said she was a hard worker. Why would they be arresting her?

  “What did she do?”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t tell you that.”

  Yusuf put his hand on Jennifer’s arm. He looked nervous. “It’s alright, love.”

  Jennifer brushed past the woman, heading for the parents.

  “I still need your—”

  She heard Yusuf’s tone grow weary. “We’ll give our permission. But I’ll need to find the key to the side gate.”

  He was stalling, Jennifer realised. If they wanted to arrest this girl under the security laws, he wasn’t about to make it easier. She smiled.

  She heard the policewoman thank Yusuf. She looked back to see him duck into the ho
use. The policewoman moved on to the next house.

  Jennifer was level with one of the police cars now, the red and blue lights bright in the dark of the cloudy night. Beyond then, Spaghetti Junction continued to glow orange above the roofline.

  Three more uniformed officers were knocking on doors, calling between each other, issuing instructions. If raps on knockers didn’t wake the street, their voices would.

  She thought of the girl, hiding in a garden somewhere. Hers, maybe. She was only twenty, twenty-one, in her first year of college when the Spaghetti Junction bomb hit, lauded as a heroine after she’d helped an injured woman and her child off a bus on the ruined motorway. What could she possibly have done in the meantime, to be under suspicion?

  Then she thought of Samir. The neighbours would have wondered the same about him. Everyone had their secrets.

  She reached the driveway where Lavonia’s parents stood, clutching at each other. The mother was blinking against the harsh police lights.

  “Hello, Celeste,” she said, her voice low. “Is everything OK?”

  Celeste’s husband turned to her, his nostrils flaring. “What do you think?”

  “Can I help at all?”

  Celeste sniffed. “I don’t know.”

  Jennifer approached her, keeping away from her husband. “What’s happened?”

  The father eyed her. “None of your business. Not anymore.”

  Celeste turned to her husband. “Please Robert, she wants to help us. She helped us once before, remember?”

  He shook his head. “This is between us. Her being here will only make things worse. People are watching.”

  His eyes swept the street. Sure enough, people were gathering to watch. Standing at their front doors in their dressing gowns, their faces glowing blue. They all looked so small and frail.

  “They’re worried,” said Jennifer. “We all are.”

  He snorted. “What if they think we’re connected to your son?”

  Jennifer opened her mouth. Celeste blushed. Robert continued to stare.

  “Mum?”

  A boy had appeared at the door in his underpants. He looked a little older than Samir. Celeste hurried to him.

  “Get inside, Clyde! You’re practically naked.”

  The boy dragged the back of his hand across his face. “What’s going on? Where’s Von?”

  The woman looked back at her husband, her eyes bright with suppressed tears. “Robert, take him in, please. He listens to you.”

  Her husband went to the boy, putting a hand on his shoulder, muttering into his ear. The boy’s eyes widened. His dad guided him inside the house and closed the door.

  “Please,” said Jennifer. “I want to help. Did they say what they suspect her of?”

  “They said she’s been looking at subversive websites.”

  “Is that all?”

  “It’s enough, these days. You of all people should know that.”

  Jennifer blushed. “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Celeste. “About your son. Robert shouldn’t have said that.”

  “Thank you.”

  The front door opened again. Robert strode out, his face hard. A police woman approached them from the pavement.

  “Go,” he said. “This is all your fault. All of you. Bloody politicians.”

  Jennifer resisted the urge to protest. Maybe he was right. Then she thought of Maggie this morning, the fire in her belly contrasting so sharply with Catherine’s cool aloofness.

  “You can’t help anyway,” he said. “You’re not our MP anymore, unless you forgot.”

  She gripped her thumb inside her fist. He wasn’t the first to feel this way about her, and he wouldn’t be the last.

  “My husband can help. Yusuf Hussain. I may not be your MP, but he’s your local councillor.”

  “As if that means anything.”

  “Robert,” Celeste hissed, eyeing her husband. She turned to Jennifer. “That would be good, thanks. When Lavonia comes home, she’ll need all the help she can get.”

  Jennifer looked back at Yusuf. He’d been joined by Hassan, who was huddled into his side. He was getting taller; his head was level with Yusuf’s shoulder now.

  “I’ll talk to him,” she said. “If your daughter comes back, or if she’s arrested, let us know.”

  Celeste nodded, her lips tight. She was trembling.

  Jennifer put a hand on her arm. “I know how this feels,” she said, remembering Samir, the way he looked when he’d appeared in her flat. “We’ll sort this. I promise.”

  She squeezed Celeste’s arm and turned back to her own house. Hassan was leaning into Yusuf, crying.

  “He thought Samir was back,” Yusuf whispered.

  Jennifer felt herself crumple. She reached out to Hassan and folded her arms around his head. He shuffled forwards, twisted between her and Yusuf. The three of them stood there in silence, staring at the flashing lights all around them.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Rita spent the night walking to Worcester. Trudging rough fields, fighting her way through hedges in the rain. The sky began to lighten, grey mist blanketing the fields and a weak sun rising over her shoulder. At last the rain stopped. The crash had been south of Worcester so she needed to keep the sunrise on her right. She thought back to the Duke of Edinburgh award she’d done as a teenager, yomping through marshes and over moors to find their way back to the campsite. She’d been good at it. Lads from another group had teased her for being the only Asian girl there. But when she arrived back first with her friend Amanda, they were quietly admiring. Instead of finding her odd, they were suddenly offering her cheap cans of cider.

  Ash’s flat was south of the city centre. It didn’t take her long to get there. She had to pause a few times, hide as an early riser passed in the morning chill. But she knew this district. The alleyways between the buildings, the alcoves where she could hide.

  She settled herself in the shadows opposite the block where Ash lived, resisting the pull of sleep. His tiny one bedroom flat was at the back, overlooking a yard of wheelie bins and discarded shopping trolleys. The only way into the yard was through the flats or along a walkway between two of the shops. There’d be people opening up at this time of day.

  Did she dare cross the street, press his button on the intercom? Would he be there? Might someone else have moved in? Someone who might recognise her and call the police.

  She slumped back, deciding to wait. Ash was a late riser; he had a stubby Yorkshire terrier who woke him at nine am, wanting to be walked. It would be light by then but nobody would be around. Could she stay awake that long?

  She stood and started marching on the spot. She blew on her hands and shook her head from side to side. She had to stay awake.

  There was a noise from along the street. She turned to see a car approach. It was modern and black, with dark windows. Not the sort of car you often saw around here. It was clean too, right down to the hub caps. She retreated into the shadows, waiting for it to pass.

  The car slowed then parked opposite her. Right on the double yellow lines. She felt panic grip her stomach. Was this car for her?

  The driver’s door opened. A woman got out and glanced up and down the street. She was tall and wore a brown suit. She reminded Rita of Jennifer. Blonde hair, willowy figure, clothes that were a size too large.

  The woman rounded the car and was joined by a short black man in a leather jacket. He was clean shaven. His jeans looked like they’d been ironed.

  She put her hand to her chest. They could only be one thing.

  They strode up the path towards the flats, looking up at the darkened windows as they did so. Only one was illuminated, the obscured glass of a bathroom on the third floor.

  Rita watched, frozen, as the woman bent to the intercom. The door opened and the pair disappeared inside.

  Another car appeared and parked behind the first. It was similar, but dark blue. A man got out of the passenger door and hurried to the front door of the
flats. Rita waited for him to follow the other pair in. He stopped instead, and turned to face the street. A sentry.

  Should she run? She looked up and down the street, terrified that the whites of her eyes would be glowing in the shadows. If she moved out of her hiding place, he would spot her. A bedraggled woman, wearing a torn hoody and grubby jeans with dried blood on her face.

  She drew back, feeling the brickwork behind her back. She kept her eyes on the door to the flats, occasionally glancing at the second car to see if someone else would get out. There was a shape in the driver’s seat but no movement.

  After what felt like hours, the door opened. The man walked out, the black man with the leather jacket. He looked around then said something to the sentry. He turned back to the doorway and was followed out by the woman.

  She wasn’t alone. In front of her, his head bowed under her palm, and his hands cuffed in front of him, was Ash.

  Rita suppressed a cry.

  They led him to the pavement and pushed him into the first car, a hand between his head and the doorframe. He didn’t look in her direction. His face was red and his eyes were heavy. He looked like he was trying to keep control of himself, to suppress his anger.

  The man got in the car and the woman walked round to the driver’s door. She flashed a look across the street before getting in the car, making Rita’s heart skip a beat.

  Rita slid to the floor, her breath ragged as they drove away in silence.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Morning love.”

  Jennifer looked up from her spot at the kitchen table and smiled as Yusuf kissed the top of her head.

  “Am I a small child?” she asked, smiling up at him.

  “What?”

  He dragged a hand across his chin and yawned. He was still in his dressing gown.

  “Kiss me properly,” she replied.