6
History shows us... the same phrase his father had used in the last of those files. Towns and cities will have no-go areas, there will be soldiers and tanks on the streets – that’s what his father said history shows. Or will show.
Luke walked back along the bridleway, his mind racing.
When a bicycle approached he retreated into the trees, hiding behind the knobbly, spread-out trunk of an oak until the cyclist had passed. Just a middle-aged woman on her way to town. When Luke reached the common, he left the main bridleway. He didn’t want to meet anyone, and not just because he was bunking off school.
Up past the fallen tree, he cut into Alice’s garden and through the shrubbery to the main road. Soon he was crunching up the drive to his home.
His mother was in the kitchen, sitting at the table with a magazine and a mug of tea.
She looked up as he came in, meeting his eyes along the hallway.
She didn’t say anything, though.
Upstairs, he took the laptop out and spent the rest of the afternoon surfing the web and personalising the computer with his own pictures and favourites. He didn’t look at his father’s files again, though. He was not going to do that. He wanted normal. He didn’t want this.
He didn’t want to be special, whatever that might mean.
That evening, Luke and Alfie hung with Alice, Beth, Harry and Jude at the playground, down by the river.
“So, you all geared up for, you know, tomorrow?” asked Harry, squeezed into one of the swings, his long legs dangling.
Alfie nodded. “All organised. Keeping it small-scale. Don’t know if there’ll be any press and all that – could be, given what happened. But I hope not. Just keeping it quiet.” The TV and websites had been full of coverage of funerals of the most recent bombing’s victims over the last few days, but Luke’s father’s name had been kept out of most of the news stories, presumably because of his role in the security service.
“What happened this afternoon?” Beth asked Luke, head at an angle, her spiky black hair flopping to one side. “I was stuck with Maggie and Sweaty Steve again. It was rank.” Beth was Luke’s lab partner in Biology. She’d already complained that she’d been stuck with those two all the previous week when Luke was off, turning his absence into something to joke about. He liked that. She’d handled all the awkwardness around what had happened far better than most people.
Luke was aware of Alfie’s eyes on him. He hadn’t told him that he’d bunked classes this afternoon. Alfie had stuck out a whole day at the Sixth Form College.
Luke shrugged. “I just went to school for the morning. Get back into it, you know? I was called in to see Mrs Piotrowski at lunchtime... you know what she’s like. Talked at me for half an hour and then sent me home.” He felt bad about lying, but would have felt far worse fessing up to how he hadn’t been able to handle being back in the thick of things again.
Beth rolled her eyes. When her mother had been on chemo last year she’d had the attentions of Mrs Piotrowski. She’d made her mother promise never to become ill again, just to spare her.
They stayed at the playground until it was dark, ending up eating chips and curry sauce on the benches that looked out over the village’s small marina. It was good to be in the company of his friends – he’d known Alice and Harry since he could remember – but even so, Luke never quite relaxed. Every time someone approached, or passed by, he studied them closely. He watched strangers’ behaviour in case they were watching him. Even familiar faces took on a new, sinister aspect. Why, exactly, was Mr Howlett loitering by the noticeboard? And why did Mrs Lee make such a detour from her walk with Scamp to say hello to them? She’d always shown an interest in the family – had she been watching them all this time? Spying on them?
Walking back through the village, first Harry and Jude, and then Beth, split off from the group to head for their respective homes, and then it was just Luke, Alfie and Alice.
Alfie wasted no time. “So what happened then, bro?” he said, as Beth climbed the steps to her front door, only just out of earshot.
Luke squinted at his brother in the light of a streetlamp.
“You’ve been quiet, and acting kind of odd, and–”
“–and I went to school and then bunked and–”
“–you’ve got a face like a slapped arse. What is it?”
“Mr Mahmood came to school,” said Luke.
Alfie stared at him now. Alice already knew this, and Luke was aware of her watching them both.
“They hauled me into Mrs Piotrowski’s office. He’d brought the laptop back. Said I could have it. They’ve cleaned it all up – I checked. Reformatted it and put a clean install of everything back on. None of Dad’s files, no browser history or cookies or anything.”
“That’s pretty cool of them to give it back,” said Alfie. “Did he say anything about those files Dad left? Did they find them?”
Luke shook his head. “No, he didn’t say. But they must have found them – they were there on the desktop.”
“So he came to school just to give you a laptop?” said Alice.
“That’s what I thought,” said Luke. “Odd thing to do. But then he started saying that Dad had been involved in some pretty scary stuff. Well duh. And that we should watch out for anything odd going on, and we should contact him if it does.”
Luke paused, then went on: “He said Dad was murdered. The whole bomb attack was just to get him...”
Alfie said nothing and they walked on in silence for a short time.
Then Alfie said, “Dad told me something one time. About a year ago. He said that some people will go to any length to shape the future that they want. It seems he must have stood in the way of someone’s plans for the future.”
Alfie’s talk of shaping futures made Luke think of the message he had received earlier.
He took his phone out, and said, “I had a message after I left school. I don’t know who it was from. It said I shouldn’t trust Mahmood, and that I’m at risk and history turned on my safety.”
“Sounds like someone’s playing mind-games with you, dude,” said Alice. They were at the bottom of her drive now.
Luke thumbed his in-box, so he could show them the message, but... he couldn’t find it.
“I don’t understand,” he said. “The message was there earlier but... it’s gone now. It really was there.” Even as he said this, he started to wonder if he’d imagined it all. In some ways that would make much more sense.
“You can set an expiry date on a message if you know how,” said Alfie. “Maybe that’s what they did, so it would automatically delete after you’d read it and you couldn’t keep it.”
Luke stared at his brother, grateful that he had actually believed him and found an explanation for what had happened, rather than dismissing it out of hand.
“Mind-games,” said Alice again. “Either that or there’s some seriously bad stuff going on around the two of you.” She turned to head up the drive towards her house, then paused and looked back over her shoulder. “You take care, you hear? I don’t know what’s going on, but I sure as hell don’t like it. Night, dudes.”
Back at home, their mother had people in the front room. Luke followed his brother, and stood in the doorway. He recognised his mother’s sister Natalie standing by the window with her two boys Matt and Danny, who must have been about nine and seven years old now. Seated in one of the sofas was Mr Mahmood, a fine crystal sherry glass clutched between disproportionately meaty hands. Luke shared a look with his brother; it seemed they couldn’t get away from Mr Mahmood these days. At the other end of the sofa was a woman Luke didn’t recognise: mid-forties, in skinny black jeans and a plum-coloured cashmere jumper. And standing with their mother at the drinks cabinet were two men in suits who Luke also did not recognise, one tall and dark, the other shorter, thick-set, with a shaved head and stubbly blond beard.
Everyone turned to face the door when the boys entered.
“Alfie, Luke,” said their mother, approaching them. She had a tired, fragile smile on her face. She looked exhausted.
Then Aunt Natalie came and hugged them each in turn.
“You know Asif Mahmood, don’t you, boys?” said their mother. “And this is Tony McDonald and Will Browne. They used to work with your... they work with Asif.” She waved towards the woman on the sofa, and went on: “And this is Helena Matheson. She knew your father through work too – I think you might have met her before? Last year at the village fete?”
Luke nodded and smiled in return at each greeting. Until not so long ago, the fact that these people had worked with his father would have meant little to him, but now he eyed them with suspicion.
“Everyone’s here for... tomorrow,” his mother added, unnecessarily.
Luke felt he should stay and help provide the hospitality for their guests. But when, after a few minutes, Alfie made excuses and headed up to his room, Luke followed suit. He felt as if everything he said and did was being studied; every time he caught Mr Mahmood’s eye there was a nod and a smile; every time he spoke to Aunt Natalie there was a hand on his arm and a “So, Luke... how are you?” He had wanted to say the same to her – here for his father’s funeral, so soon after her own brother Phil had died – but he didn’t know how, and then he realised that he was wanting to say the same thing that everyone said to him, and then the moment had passed and he just felt awkward and confused.
Up in his room, he closed the door and leaned back against it. Downstairs he had felt as if a belt had tightened around his rib cage. Now, he could breathe again.
His window looked out over the front garden, the grass and trees lit silver by a full moon.
Sitting on his bed, leaning back on a pillow propped up against the headboard, he flipped the laptop open. Alfie, Alice, Beth and Harry were already online. It often went like this: an evening hanging out together and then they would all meet up again online and chat into the night. Or at least they would as long as their parents didn’t realise what they were doing. This had always been harder for Luke, as he could only join in on his phone or on Alfie’s laptop, or downstairs on the family computer, but now he had his own laptop.
Luke opened a chat with Alfie and Alice.
Luke says: hey bro, alice
hey Alice - did alfie tel you about the wild party downstairs?
Alice says: wild you say?
Alfie says: yeah wild. theyre drinkin sherry and making small takl
reckon they were there all the time we wer down athe river
wild time alrighty
In a separate window, a message from Beth appeared:
Beth says: sorry Luke. Meant to say earlier. Me + Jude can come 2morrow. Schoolz given us permission. Mum had 2 get a strop on with them b4 they says yes an then they says yes 2 Judes dad 2.
Luke says: thats cool
thanks
want it done. you know? over with
Beth says: i do
know, i mean. Needz closure [/psycho- babble] ;-)
movin on, right?
Luke could still hear the occasional voice from downstairs. Mr Mahmood was the loudest, a kind of forced jollity in his tone tonight. Switching chat windows, Luke saw:
Alice says: so y all the secret agents or wotever downstairs then?
they all jus paying thr respects?
Alfie says: who knows? snooping. dunno.
Alice says: must be creepy
Alfie says: but you cant beleive what you see in the media!! the press are run by the state. they do and say whatever they’re told. it’s all propoganda. any genuine voices of dissent have to find other channels to communicate through.
Alice says: ????
Luke saw what had happened: Alfie must be having a chat in another window and had typed a response into the wrong box.
Luke says: wrong chat alfie. dont think that was meant for us.
Alfie says: bgr. sorry peeps. was on a politix forum. my bad.
Alice says: true what you said tho. cant trust the press. need other ways 2 fight the system
Alfie says: never thought youd be agreeing with me alice seaton.
Alice says: fine as long as ur not replacing press propaganda with nats eh? :-)
Alfie says: meh
just as i thought. real debate too much for you seaton
Luke says: now now
Alfie says: anyhoo. im outa here.
Alfie removed himself from the chat, but Luke saw that he stayed online.
Back to the other window, he realised Beth had carried on chatting and he’d been ignoring her.
Beth says: so anywayz. Me + Jude will be there.
Therez gonna be food right? ;-)
She was still online, so Luke answered:
Luke says: sure there’s food. can skip the dull bits and come straight to house if you just want the food, eh?
Beth says: :-) :-) yum
In the other window:
Alice says: sumthin i said?
Luke says: you know alfie. moody sod sometimes
Alice says: yeah like whenever hes awake ;-)
Luke says: reckon he’s moody even in his dreams
Alice says: lmao
think he’s ok?
Luke says: about as ok as me, i reckon ;-)
The funeral was in the morning. Luke was grateful that it was to be so early in the day. Even with the polite milling about afterwards for nibbles and drinks it would all be over by mid-afternoon, he reckoned.
Dressed in black school trousers, white shirt and a jacket and dark tie rescued from his father’s wardrobe, Luke stood with a slice of toast in his hand and peered out of the kitchen window. You could see along the drive from here to the main road through the village. They planned to walk the short distance down to the church, but not if there was going to be any media presence.
The street was empty, apart from the occasional passing car.
A short time later, his mother appeared in the doorway. She was wearing a black pencil skirt suit and she looked calm and composed. Luke remembered what Beth had said last night about today giving them closure. He hoped it would.
“You ready?” he asked.
She nodded, reached out, and took his arm.
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s go.” Then, louder: “Alfie? Are you ready, love?”
Alfie came down the stairs and, arm in arm, the three of them left the house and walked down the drive.
Mr Mahmood was at the gateway with one of his colleagues – the shaven-headed one with a blond beard. His name was Will, Luke thought. They said nothing, but fell into step behind Luke and his family.
It felt peculiar to have an escort like this. Luke kept looking around. He felt exposed, vulnerable. As if Mr Mahmood was expecting trouble.
He stopped his wild train of thoughts. They were his father’s colleagues, just here for the funeral. They were walking with them, not guarding them. There was nothing sinister in what was happening.
And that bulge under Will’s jacket was not a handgun in a shoulder holster.
They passed through the lych-gate and along the short path to the church door to be greeted by the vicar, who everyone in the village simply knew as Harvey. He greeted Luke’s mother with a two-handed handshake. “Julie,” he said. “And the boys. Alf. Luke.”
Inside, they sat at the front. There were only a few people here already. Natalie and her two boys were in the row behind them. Luke’s grandparents hadn’t been able to come, the journey down from Aberdeen too much for them these days. He wondered what they would do for Uncle Phil’s funeral next week.
Mr Mahmood and Will joined their colleague Tony in a pew near the back. Helena Matheson sat with Luke’s neighbours the Wilkes. Just then, Beth arrived with her mother, followed shortly by Jude with his father and step-mother.
A few minutes later, Alice arrived with her parents. They made straight for the front and Sir Peter leaned down to take Luke’s mother’s hand. “Be strong, Julie,” he said. He smiled at Alfie and Luke and squeezed each of them on the shoulder in turn. Alice’s mother, Ruth, hugged Luke’s mother.
Alice caught Luke’s eye and gave a quick smile, and then she went to sit on the other side with her parents.
Finally, everyone was there. Not many, truth be told. Was this one of the consequences of the life his father had lived? Such a sparse turnout. Just a few colleagues and neighbours. Luke knew his father had been an only child, and he couldn’t remember his father’s parents, as they had died so long ago. How unfair to pass through life and leave so little mark on the world... Although any marks his father would have left were all probably hush-hush, Luke remembered, a requirement of his work with the Home Office.
The service passed in a blur for Luke. Harvey’s words were warm, but bland. Mr Mahmood paid a brief tribute to his lost colleague, carefully avoiding any reference to what Luke’s father’s line of work had actually been.
Before Luke really knew it, they were processing outside again into the warm May sunshine.
There were handshakes from Tony and Will, each of them saying how much they’d respected and liked Luke’s father. Mr Mahmood said, “Luke... such a loss. Remember that I am here for you and your family whatever and whenever the need.”
Beth hugged Luke, tears heavy in her eyes, and her mother shook his hand and then hugged him too. Alice punched him on the arm, and said, “You good, dude?”
He smiled at that. “I’m good,” he said.
Helena Matheson took his hand, then leaned forward to hug him. She smelt musky, spicy: Chanel Number 5, the perfume his mother wore when she was going out. “Luke,” Helena said. “So sorry. Your father was a good man. And he told me a lot about you. He told me you’re special. Very special.”
With that, she tightened her hug briefly, and then released him.
Special... very special.
He looked at her, she smiled, she turned away, and then Mr Mahmood was there again, an arm around his shoulder, squeezing, his sweet aftershave replacing Helena’s Chanel in a dizzying blend of scent. “A good man, yes,” he said, as Luke peered over his shoulder, trying to see where the woman had gone.
Special... very special.