I turned through a narrow alleyway that I thought must cut to the next road, though it bent a little in the middle so you couldn’t see through to the end. The steps behind me turned down it too, echoing off the high walls of the buildings that hemmed us in. There were rumours that on days likes these thieves would walk beside their victims to slash through the side of handbags, grab their purses and then just walk off in the mist. We only had rumours, though, because the government hushed up news of most crimes.

I walked a little faster, but I tripped and my feet slithered when I came to a pile of rubbish and broken bricks that spanned the path. As I picked my way over them, the steps behind mine slowed. I glanced back. I could only make out a shambling figure close to the wall. Hurrying now, I squeezed past a dumped bedframe lying on its side, only to stumble on something that spun out from under my foot, making me drop my bag in the gloom. I wanted to leave it and bolt away, but it held my purse, so I had to nervously scrabble about for it. The figure stopped. I heard his silence.

28

Twenty-seven. Twenty-seven lives have been lost this year as our countrymen have tried to escape that prison colony that calls itself a republic. Twenty-seven families marking Christmas with an empty chair at the table. Twenty-seven diaries that will never be filled. The number lies heavy in my heart.

Winston Churchill, Radio Free Europe address,
Saturday, 22 November 1952

‘Who’s that?’ I called out. There was no sound but the wind whipping down the alley like a spear. ‘I can see you.’ I raised my voice, hoping someone in the houses on either side would look out, but they remained lifeless. My searching hands found my bag and drew it to me. Clutching it, I stood up, spun on my heels and ran for safety. But as I rounded the corner I saw that the alley ended not in an open path to the next road, but in a high wooden gate topped with barbed wire.

The man hadn’t come around the corner yet, but I could hear the shuffling of his feet, a snap and a metallic sound as he kicked a can. I pressed myself into the corner. The footsteps came closer. As he stepped out of the smog I recognized the rough green tattoos on his neck even before his face.

‘What do you want?’ I asked, holding my handbag to me as if it would offer protection.

The printer put his face right up to mine before grabbing hold of the bag. I tried to keep it from him, but he was too strong and threw me off. He searched inside and pulled out the paper package that contained the negative and print.