Nick was looking at a young man in the corner of the room who was confined to a wheelchair, his legs ending at his knees. There were others around him, but they were standing and talking over his head, and Nick’s gaze took on that melancholy, faraway look I saw when he was back thinking about his War service. The man caught sight of Nick, and their eyes met. They seemed to understand each other. Nick raised his drink to the man and the gesture was echoed. They drank.

‘Dr Cawson? Shall I make some enquiries among your patients who have influence? Discreetly, of course.’

Nick’s attention returned to us. ‘What do you think?’ he asked me.

‘I don’t know,’ I said. I never wanted to go through what had happened to us again, but, unlike Nick or Charles, I knew just how close NatSec had been. They might even have been in our house – the young man with the pebble-like goitre on his neck who had pulled Tibbot and me from the train, perhaps. They would never let Nick join the Party unless it was as their stooge, their blackmailed and beholden puppet keeping tabs on the other members. The Party was said to be rife with those.

‘Yes. Well, go ahead, then,’ Nick said decisively.

‘I’ll make the calls in the morning.’ Charles looked satisfied.

It struck me that three days ago Nick had been in NatSec’s cells; now he was planning to join the Party. All of our memories were becoming shorter.

29

The following evening saw me sitting at the kitchen table, leafing through a copy of the Morning Star’s thick Sunday edition. Despite its length, there was little in it: a long article about one Louise Archer, the mother of six children who was being lionized by the state as our own Stakhanov, explaining how easy and pleasant she found it cooking for a family of eight; and below it a warning to expect the heaviest smog of the year. There was still no mention of Lorelei, and I supposed that there never would be now.

Nick had just returned from spending the day in Waltham Forest with Hazel. She was still crying from time to time, but it had been almost a week, so I thought and hoped that she was over the worst. During six years of war as a country, we had got used to swallowing down our grief, so, sad to say, Hazel’s experience was far from unusual. She had asked if I could come out with them, which was touching, and I wished I could, but I knew Nick wanted to be alone with her.