Authors: Chris Wimpress
So glad you’re okay, Ellie. I miss you, and would love to meet soon. Love Gail x.
That first evening back in the attic I slept soundly, but the following night couldn’t sleep at all. Actually I’d dozed for about an hour before waking up with a little yelp. It didn’t disturb James, who as usual was right on the other end of the queen size bed, his back to me. I lay there for a few minutes, thinking about summer nights in Naviras when he’d tried to spoon me all night, making me too hot and forcing me to push him away. When had the spooning stopped?
The attack had occluded the near-constant remorse and pointless regret I’d been feeling about Naviras, but it was starting to reassert itself, long after I’d supposedly broken free of its gravity. I could feel the village pulling me back and down, but why? There wasn’t anyone left there with whom I had a strong connection, save for Carolina. It felt like the village itself knew only I could be mourning like it was.
I got up and went into the living room. In the dark I fumbled with the box on top of the set of shelves in the corner, pulled off the lid to make sure the key was there. The key to Casa Amanhã, or the padlocks securing it, at least. It was still attached to its leather cord and I picked it up, inhaling it, wishing for the smell of Luis in some way, tobacco mixed with sweat. I put the cord over my head, the key cool against my breastbone. I knew I couldn’t wear it all the time - that would’ve looked absurd - but I felt I should keep it with me, for emergencies.
Just before dawn broke I heard footsteps on the stairs and shortly Rav came into view.
‘Morning,’ I said, and he jumped slightly. I covered the key with my dressing gown.
‘What on earth are you doing up so early?’ he asked.
‘I couldn’t sleep, I wake up every hour. On the hour, almost.’
‘Sorry Ellie, you’ve been through a lot,’ he genuinely seemed pained for me. He had James’s red boxes with him, containing papers which needed the most urgent attention first-thing. He put them down on the desk in the corner.
‘No less than you,’ I beckoned him to sit down on the sofa opposite me. ‘Are you having bad dreams?’
‘No,’ he rubbed his eyes. ‘Sometimes when I wake up I think I’ve just been dozing for hours on end.’ He refused my offer of coffee, saying he’d already charged himself with gallons of it. As I went to the kitchen to brew some for myself he followed me, leaning hands-first on the counter.
‘I’m thinking of packing it all in, Ellie,’ he said, in a low voice.
I stopped pouring water into the coffee jug, put the kettle down and looked at him. ‘I’m not surprised, you looked exhausted even before what happened in Israel.’
‘No, it’s not that, actually.’ He blew out a little puff of air. ‘I need to get my life back; find a guy, have a relationship.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Do you know how long it’s been, for me?’
‘I know, Rav,’ I put my hand on his, almost telling him that it’d been almost as long for me, before realising my last time had been with Luis. ‘I’m sure James would understand if you resigned, you could even find a seat to fight.’
‘No, that’s just it.’ His voice rose and I shot him a cautionary look. ‘That’s just it,’ he whispered. ‘I don’t know why, but I’m not interested in any of it, not any more.’
‘Since when?’
‘Since the attack. Well, since I woke up after it.’ Rav let go of my hand and padded slowly across the room, sitting down on the sofa. ‘I just don’t care about things like I used to, Ellie. None of it seems to matter, it feels like everything will sort itself out, one way or another. I feel like I’ve been given a second chance.’
I winced. ‘Well, we all have, I suppose.’
‘Yeah, but to do what? It’s made me realise there’s more to life than Westminster. I just feel there’s a message in all of this.’
I stared at the wall for a moment before pouring the coffee. ‘I wish you’d been elected to Parliament, Rav,’ I said. ‘You would’ve made a good MP, a good minister,’ I stopped pouring and looked at the wall. ‘I had a dream about it, once.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah,’ I walked back into the living room. ‘I was watching you at the despatch box, the whole Commons in rapturous praise.’
Without warning Rav stood up almost involuntarily, like a spring had been released inside his legs. ‘Agh, sorry. Headache..’ He put his hands over his face. ‘It came on so quickly.’
‘Too much coffee, maybe,’ I put down my own mug. ‘And stress.’
‘Yeah,’ he still had his hands over his face, his voice was muffled. He sat back down. ‘It’s okay, it’s going away.’
‘So, you’ll tell James you’re thinking about quitting?’ I looked up at the small windows. Dawn was breaking, shafts of grey light poking through the gaps in the blinds.
Rav sniffed, turned his attention back to the papers on the coffee table. ‘Soon. But please, Ellie, not a word before I talk to him first, okay?’
‘Of course, you know I wouldn’t say anything.’ Again, I failed to mention that James and I rarely had such conversations anyway.
‘Yeah, that’s why I told you, Ellie,’ He gave me one of his grins. ‘I’d better go downstairs and see what’s on the news. Thanks for being a sounding board.’
Who knows whether these snatches memory might have surfaced more quickly, had I not been so exhausted. I was constantly tired at the time, no matter how much I caffeinated myself. ‘I’m going to get the doctor over,’ I said to James a few days later. ‘Maybe she’s heard of side-effects like this.’
‘I’m not all that keen to get her involved, L,’ he replied, grabbing hold of my hand and rubbing my fingers. ‘I mean, if we’d had the expertise to treat your condition in the UK, we wouldn’t have flown to America in the first place. Give it another day or two, yeah?’
Anushka asked whether I felt well enough to take on some diary commitments – she’d been adamant in the first week that nobody be allowed near me and the kids. She’d come up to the attic twice a day for a chat, often about nothing specific but just to check up on me. ‘We could see how you feel after PMQs next week, that’s assuming you’re okay to go and watch?’
‘Why PMQs?’
‘James thinks it’s a good idea.’
‘That’s incredible, he got annoyed at me once for turning up in the galleries like that,’ I was baffled but Anushka was only relaying the message and couldn’t offer any advice. ‘Okay,’ I said, groaning internally at the thought of going to the Commons. ‘But you’ll come with me? And I want to get there just before, and come back straight after.’
I’d developed a new relationship with attic; obviously still hating it, but the world outside felt gigantic and dangerous. Every car seemed like a potential crash, every staircase a possible broken ankle. I was ashamed at myself for feeling so brittle and weak, my main concern was renewing my bonds with the kids and making sure they were happy. This urge was re-enforced by James’s virtual estrangement from the three of us, which, I told myself, was understandable because he was so busy. He had his own bonds to renew; with government, the cabinet and the staff beneath us in Number 10.
Wednesday morning came around – a week after our return to London – and as agreed I made my way over to Parliament just before noon to watch James answer his first questions since the attack. Nobody was expecting a bunfight, in fact everyone was anticipating a fairly long statement from James at the start. Pundits predicted most of the questions would be on Israel and the deleterious effect the attack was having on the peace process. Still it was quite a set-piece event and a helicopter followed James’s car from Number 10 to Parliament.
As I walked through the building with Anushka I was struck by its gloominess, the lights all turned down to their lowest level in Central Lobby. We made our way to the gallery and sat down, the assembled public and press all staring at us as we took our seats. Anushka was flicking through the real-time comments from the journalists sitting to our right. She forwarded one to me.
Ellie Weeks has arrived in the Commons, looking calm and upbeat
, was how one hack had judged my arrival. I raised my eyebrows at Anushka and she just shrugged.
It was ten to twelve. James entered the chamber from behind the Speaker’s chair to loud cheers and waving of papers. Some of the cheers even came from the opposition benches - perhaps a little surprising, but I guess all MPs much preferred democracy to savagery, were glad to see the former had won out. As usual Rav was sitting in the advisers’ box at the back of the chamber, he looked up at me and nodded, smiling. I smiled back, but then felt my nerves tingle down the right-hand side of my face, as though someone had injected little ice crystals into my temple. It spread to my upper arms as the noise of the Commons seemed to become subdued.
‘Mrs. Eleanor Weeks,’ said the Speaker, looking at me as the chamber fell silent. The government MPs all looked up, as did everyone in the other galleries, press included. They were poised to take down what I would say, but of course I had no words. Why would they want to hear from me, not a Member of Parliament? It was unprecedented and out of order, nothing less than an affront to the Commons, surely. I couldn’t focus on anyone. I still didn’t know what I was going to say but I went to stand up anyway. Quickly Anushka pulled me back down. The noise of the MPs returned and a backbencher was on her feet, asking the last question of a minister before PMQs.
What was more shocking, that I’d hallucinated or that someone might’ve seen me rise slightly? I closed my eyes. My heart felt like it was moving from left to right inside my ribs. When I opened my eyes again Anushka was still looking at me ‘You’re okay,’ she insisted, calmly. ‘They’re all looking at James.’
‘I think it’s a migraine coming on.’
‘I’m not surprised, Ellie. Do you want to leave? I think people would understand if you did.’
I looked at the journalists sitting to my left. None seemed to be looking my way, they were fixated on the government benches. I looked at the clock, saw I had about two minutes before the Commons would be rammed and it would be impossible to escape without comment.
‘It’s all wrong,’ I whispered to Anushka. ‘James and Rav, they’re in the wrong place.’
‘What?’ Anushka’s nostrils flared.
‘I don’t know why, I don’t know,’ I could feel tears forming at the inner recesses of my eyes. ‘Rav’s meant to be the prime minister, not James.’
Anushka’s lower lip dropped in shock. ‘Ellie, you’re not making any sense,’ she hissed.
‘I know, I know,’ I felt the first teardrop slide down my left cheek, the side only Anushka could see. My other side still felt frozen and numb.
‘Okay, Ellie, let’s go somewhere quiet,’ she pinched my upper arm and stood up, practically pulling me up with her. We quickly made our way to the gallery’s exit and walked through, the doorkeeper standing next to it looking somewhat perplexed.
By the time we were in the corridor outside I’d recovered my composure, dabbed my cheeks with a tissue and was rummaging for my compact mirror to check my make-up. The leather cord attached to Casa Amanhã’s key became snagged in the clasp. ‘It’s okay, I’m fine, really.’ I said. ‘We should go back in there.’
‘No,’ said Anushka firmly. ‘Not a good idea. I’m sorry Ellie, we shouldn’t have pushed you so quickly.’
‘What do you mean
we
?’ I said it absently, trying to smother the mascara trail on my cheek with powder. ‘Be honest with me, Anushka, please.’
She sighed slightly. ‘The PM’s office were very keen to get you back on your feet,’ she frowned. ‘They really wanted you to be here. I said it was touch-and-go, to be honest, but I was talked out. I’m so sorry.’
‘It’s fine,’ I closed the mirror and put it back in my handbag before turning to Anushka, who looked truly miserable. ‘I know what they can be like, none better.’
By the time we had returned to Downing Street PMQs was wrapping up. My abrupt departure from the Commons had been noticed, but it was a minor observation ultimately lost in
praise for James’s bravura performance. As expected the opposition had struggled to find anything they could attack him for. Anushka asked me if she could get me anything. ‘Just a cup of sugary tea, please,’ I said, turning on the TV as Anushka walked over to the kitchen area and switched the kettle on.
It was the final question of PMQs, put to James by a backbench Tory who was a ministerial bag-carrier.
Will my honourable friend join me in congratulating St. Mark’s Parish Church in my constituency for raising enough money to save it from closure, and what more can the government do to preserve our historic religious buildings?
James stood up. ‘I’m delighted to hear my honourable friend’s constituents can continue to worship locally, and given myself and Mrs. Weeks have just agreed to have our two children christened, I’m very keen to look closely at the issues which threaten our churches and will write to him on this matter.’
‘Bastard,’ I said.
I’m struggling up Travessa de Cosmo in the pouring rain, which is coming down vertically. The raindrops are falling so fast they seem to be stretched, leaving trails in the air behind them. There’s so much water in the street, flowing back down the travessa in a torrent, making it hard for me to make progress. My sandals are squishy from being submerged in the flowing water. The same sandals I was wearing... when, where? I’m wearing a bikini top and a sarong, both sodden.
All the cottages lining the travessa are boarded up, windows and doors covered by planks of wood, nails sticking out dangerously. A loud crack of thunder rolls overhead, bouncing down the lane. Coupled with the noise of the rain it’s impossible to hear the ocean behind me. I urge myself on, trying to wade as fast as I can without slipping. What’s my hurry; what I am I running towards, or away from?
Finally I turn the corner into the main road. The water on the street’s not so deep here, but I can see more of the dark grey sky. I’m soaking wet and try to shake the rainwater from my head as I approach the gates to Casa Amanhã. They’re closed, the chain with the padlock wrapped around the bars in the middle. I can barely see the house for the rain, just the outline of the building slightly darker than the sky behind it. I can’t make out any of its features.
I don’t have the padlock key; no pockets for it to be hiding in, and it’s not around my neck on its leather cord. I grasp hold of the padlock and it just comes apart in my hands, the chain sliding around the bars before falling to the ground. Even though I’ve not touched them, the gates open inwards by themselves with a dull screech. I walk down the driveway, which has become a gravelly swamp with puddles dotted around, clumps of grass and weeds poking through here and there.
The door to the restaurant is closed, boarded up just like the windows. The front door’s open, though. I walk carefully up the two steps because they’re slippery. It’s gloomy inside the house; I feel like I’m trespassing somehow, even though it’s obvious nobody’s been here for years. Lottie’s novels are covered in a yellow slime, as are all the walls. Gingerly I begin to climb the staircase, the doors to all the bedrooms are covered with planks of wood, seemingly nailed there hastily like they’re designed to keep something from bursting out. There must be holes in the roof because the rain’s coming in, drops passing me on their way down to the vestibule.
The door to Room Seven is open. The red duvet is smeared with the same yellow slime. One of the French windows is ajar; several of its panes are smashed and the broken glass is strewn on the tiled floor.
Into the bathroom I go; there’s the painting hanging lop-sided from the wall as usual, but the picture itself has changed. The fisherman’s no longer serene, he’s angry. His eyes are wide open, just like his mouth which is frozen in a snarl. He stares furiously at me, as if he might at any point reach out from the painting and attack. I can’t look at him as I pick up the painting off its hook, and pull it away from the wall. Another crack of thunder from outside, right above the house by the sounds of it.
The alcove’s here, dark and empty. It seems deeper than before, though; I can’t see the back of it. I put my hand inside, feeling around for a note or anything. My arm keeps going in, impossibly, the sides of the alcove feel slick. Then I hear the noise and barely have enough time to pull my hand back out before hundreds – no thousands of bees come flying out of the alcove, batting against me as I take a step back, trying to scream. More of them come, attaching themselves to my arms and legs, crawling up my neck. Still more of them are pouring out of the alcove, their buzzing getting louder.
I turn and run out of the bathroom, trying to make my way out of Room Seven back to the staircase but I can’t really see because bees are covering my head, crawling into my mouth, ears and eye sockets. I trip at the top of the staircase, go flying over the handrail and begin to plummet down the stairwell, all the time still covered in the bees.
I was woken by the sound of James’s feet stomping up the staircase. ‘Are you up here, L?’
‘Yes.’
His head came into view. ‘What happened? You left PMQs before it even started,’ He looked worried, but not obviously about me.
‘I felt a migraine coming on,’ I looked away from him, staring up at the small windows. ‘I was worried I might be sick.’
‘If you weren’t feeling well, you shouldn’t have gone,’ He sighed quietly. ‘It’s fine, we’ll just have questions about your exit to answer, I’ll tell Rosie.’ He didn’t sit down, I could just see the side of his suit jacket in my field of vision. He was tapping his foot lightly as he was firing off a message. ‘Well, there’s not much we can do about it now, except to give you some more rest. Have you been taking any medication, by the way?’ He was trying too hard to sound disinterested.
‘Medication for what?’
‘I don’t know, anything. It’s just that I’ve heard from the doctors in DC. They said there was something unusual about the results of your scans.’
‘Well, don’t you think I should’ve been told about that first?’
‘Shhh, L, it fine. They only asked me to ask you, that’s all. Anything?’
‘No,’ I said after a moment. ‘I’m not taking any medicine.’ That, strictly speaking, wasn’t a lie. ‘I want to keep going,’ I stood up shakily. I had to avoid extending my confinement to the flat where the walls seemed to be closing in. ‘Perhaps the Commons wasn’t the best place for my first outing.’
He bobbed his head from side to side slightly. ‘Maybe you’re right.’
‘But James, I really resent you telling everyone we’re getting the kids christened without discussing it with me first. I did say on the plane that I wasn’t keen.’
His eyes creased slightly at their outside edges. ‘I’m sorry, L. Heat of the moment, you know? I didn’t see the question coming and I just said it, you know, off-the-cuff.’ Only then did he take a step forward, tried to pick up my hand to hold it. ‘I’ve got to go to Geneva tonight, I promise we’ll discuss it at Chequers properly at the weekend, yeah?’
‘What are you doing in Geneva?’
He sighed, running his hand through his receding hair. ‘You should know this, hasn’t Anushka given you today’s grid? It’s the Middle East summit. Everyone’s going, Morgan included.’
‘Sorry, please don’t blame Anushka. She must have told me, it’s just…’ I began to cry again, hating myself for enjoying it.
James drew me close to him, put his hand behind my head, resting his forehead against mine. ‘Shhh, L. It’s fine.’ His breath was bilious. ‘You’ll get through this, I promise. Just let me know if you’re feeling remotely unwell, okay?’
‘Okay,’ I whispered. ‘Maybe I’ll take the kids to Chequers tomorrow morning, if you’re going to be away.’
James took a step back. ‘Sure, if that’s going to help,’ he said eventually. ‘Just make sure Anushka logs it all properly.’ The rules regarding the use of the PM’s country retreat were labyrinthine, to avoid any allegation of sleaze. ‘Right, I’ve got to get back to it. Let me know if you’re still feeling rough, alright?’
‘Yes,’ I had recovered some composure. ‘What time’s your flight?’
‘Oh, about four, in the meantime I’ve got some meetings with the energy companies. More bashing of heads together, I’m afraid.’ He grinned, insincerely. ‘Got to run. Give the kids a kiss goodnight for me, will you?’
Bobby and Sadie were both delighted when I announced they would be getting two days off school. It was something we avoided wherever possible, although there were contingencies in place. The school provided a little pack of activities for them so they’d keep up with the rest of their peers, it just required a call from Anushka early that afternoon to arrange. The next morning we left for Chequers in the car, leaving Number 10 through the back door. It wasn’t that I didn’t like the press watching me, that was nothing new. It was the reasons why I was being watched that gave me a newfound dread.
It took just under ninety minutes to drive from central London to Chequers, a special branch guard in the passenger seat while Anushka, me and the kids sat cramped in the back. I kept Sadie on my lap, managing to keep her quiet by loading cartoons for her to watch. I smelled her blond curly hair, noticed it was overdue for a cut. I thought about Luis, how he never found out whether or not Sadie was his. How terrifying it mus
t have been for him, those last moments desperately trying to swim away from the approaching boat, I thought. Then it occurred to me, how did I know that?
Because he told you
, answered my consciousness.
No he didn’t
, I replied to it.
‘Mummy, how long would it take for me to get to Alpha Centuri?’ Bobby was happy enough doing his homework, his growing thirst for knowledge prompting surprisingly complex questions. I laughed, feeling like it was the first time I’d done so in months, but it only served as a temporary respite from my worries. I didn’t understand how I could have strange memories of things, conversations with people who were dead, but they were there in my head - in a different way to how Lottie’s voice used to haunt me.
At the junction with the motorway there’d been an accident and the traffic slowed to a crawl. Out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw a government agent walking down the inside lane towards the car, gun drawn. When I looked directly at him he was gone.
It had turned quite warm and sunny by the time we pulled into the driveway at Chequers. Immediately the kids bounded out of the car and ran into the house, where the housekeeping staff were waiting for us at the door. I paused in the courtyard, looking at the bronze statue in its centre. Hygeia, supposedly the ancient goddess of health, looking slightly frail and sad. Quite unlike myself, I silently asked for her blessing as I deeply inhaled the country air.
After lunch the kids and I settled in the Long Gallery, one of the more cosy rooms in the giant house. I wasn’t used to being there with so few people present, normally our visits coincided with formal dinners and working weekends. It was better to be rattling around a giant stately home than cooped up in the attic above Number 10, I thought. Still I felt like an intruder; years ago my predecessors had been allowed to make Chequers their second home, even make minor decorations. That had all been declared improper some time before my tenure, though.
I was supervising the kids’ homeschooling assignments when Anushka came in, in the middle of a call. ‘Can you just hold for one moment please, while I discuss this with Mrs. Weeks? Thankyou.’ She muted the call, her eyes wide. ‘Ellie, it’s the White House. Gavin Cross is flying to London tonight and he’s asking if he can see you in the morning.’
I shivered involuntarily. ‘What’s he doing in London? This wasn’t scheduled, was it?’
‘Not at all,’ Anushka was obviously as bemused as me. ‘He’s having some private meetings, apparently.’
‘Well of course I’d be happy to meet him, but do we have to go back into town? It would be nice if he could come here, if he’s got time.’
‘I’ll see.’ Anushka returned to the call. ‘Hello? Yes. Mrs. Weeks wonders if the First Gentleman might be inclined to meet at Chequers?’ There was a pause at the other end, then a voice came back. Anushka smiled. ‘Really? That’s perfect. Ten o’clock?’ She turned to me and I nodded. ‘We’ll look forward to it. Thanks.’ She hung up. ‘He already knew you were here.’
‘That’s going to be impossible to keep out of the news,’ I said. ‘James will be annoyed about it.’
‘We’ll just make sure it’s one photo, maybe outside in the garden?’ Anushka was already composing a message.
‘No, let’s do it out front, hopefully that’ll keep people from traipsing through the house.’ I was pleased at the thought of seeing Gavin, but also keen to maintain a sanctuary for Bobby and Sadie. ‘I guess this makes it a formal visit, now,’ I added. ‘You’ll have to have a word with Number 10 about the finances.’
‘Gotcha,’ said Anushka. ‘By the way, that call didn’t come via the Downing Street switchboard. It was direct.’
Once again I found it hard to sleep that night, endlessly speculating about the reason for Gavin’s visit. In a statement the White House explained that security concerns had prevented earlier disclosure, refusing to give any more details. I had to trowel on foundation to hide my tiredness, hoping the photo I’d have to pose for would be wide-angle.
Anushka kindly agreed to look after the kids that morning. I asked her if Number 10 had queried Gavin’s abrupt visit to Chequers and she frowned. ‘Nothing from them at all,’ she said. I was vaguely surprised, but most of James’ senior staff were in Geneva and pre-occupied. From James himself I’d not heard anything since Wednesday night, not a single message.
With typical fastidiousness Gavin’s car pulled into Chequers on the stroke of ten o’clock. He got out of the car along with two young-looking men, they strolled slowly across the courtyard to the front door where I was waiting for him. I felt a degree of relief when I noticed he looked just as drawn as I did, smiling only weakly.
‘Good to see you,’ he said, kissing me on both cheeks. ‘Shall we get this photo out of the way now, then we can talk?’
‘Absolutely,’ I said. Our eyes met, there was immediate and intimate understanding. ‘I’ve arranged some brunch for us inside.’
‘I’m not all that hungry, actually.’ He turned to face Hygeia as the White House photographer quickly assembled his tripod, mounted the camera. Flash, flash, click.
‘All great, looking good, sir,’ said the photographer.