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Chapters (46)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Maps
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. Chronology
  44. Historical Notes
  45. Acknowledgements
  46. THE BEGINNING

‘Is someone there?’ It rattled out of the earpiece. I waited, staring at the receiver. ‘Are you there?’ the voice repeated, slowly and cautiously. Then a click as they hung up. I breathed out.

Penguin Books

30

I couldn’t stop thinking about that call even as I made Hazel breakfast the next morning. It had been – in part, at least – about me. Of course Nick would have occasion to talk about me sometimes, but this sounded very much like a conversation I was being deliberately kept from.

Hazel was wearing her navy-blue school uniform. I had worried that it was too soon for her to go back, but Nick thought it would be better for her to be with her friends than wandering about in our house with no one to talk to. Maybe he was right. ‘Are you sure you feel up to it?’ I asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Good.’ With Nick around, things between her and me were warming by the day. ‘What are you learning in English?’

She sighed. ‘How Dickens depicts class conflict in Oliver Twist.’

Burgess and his friends had been clever. They had used our national love for literature as a way to open up our nascent political consciousness. So Tressell’s The Ragged-Trousered Philanthropists and Orwell’s The Road to Wigan Pier were required reading. And yet Lorelei had said Orwell had fallen foul of Burgess’s assistant, Ian Fellowman, and ended up in a re-education camp.

‘That sounds very interesting,’ I said. ‘I can help you with it if you want.’

‘Yes, please.’

I was happy about that. ‘It’s a wonderful book,’ I said.

‘I’m really glad you’re here,’ she blurted out.

I hugged her. ‘I’m glad I’m here too, Hazel. We’re going to be fine,’ I said.

After seeing her off, I took a tram heading south, watching the wrapped-up people and the bomb sites flit past. When I stepped down at the stop for the South London Hospital, a big black car slowed a little as it passed me. I briefly tried to stare into it before shaking my head and telling myself that I was seeing faces in clouds – that if they had wanted to remain hidden they would have done so, and if they had really wanted me to see they were there, they would have been a damn sight less subtle about it.