She looked it up in Hansard, and it was as he said. The Attorney-General announced he was taking the advice of the Director of Public Prosecutions, who believed there was insufficient evidence to warrant criminal proceedings.

And there was Marcus Lipton, Labour MP for Brixton. “Does the Attorney-General nevertheless agree that, in view of sworn statements by four ex-guardsmen claiming to be present at the scene, which were published in the People, it was necessary to have the inquiry even though after all these years it is generally accepted that it is impossible to collect sufficient evidence for a prosecution?”

And the reply. “I do not wish to make any comment about the necessity of this inquiry.”

She let the sentence run over and over in her head. That was all there was. He did not wish it, and therefore it would not happen. Of course, that’s how it had always been. She understood this at one level, but at another felt horribly naïve at having allowed herself to believe in the possibility of justice. There had been no further discussion. A token show of resistance, and the chamber moved on to
other business.

“What’s wrong?” said Ian Spender, stopping by her desk. The men, she noted, were treating her better now, as if she’d needed to accomplish all she had merely in order to be taken as an equal.

“Nothing. Some bad news.”

“Not too serious, I hope?” His pallid face was actually mildly concerned, as if he really did care.

“I’ll survive, thanks.” And she would. She would be fine. How had this come to mean so much to her? Her life would continue just the same, she knew that.

“We’ll be down the pub, if you’re coming.”

“I’ll be there.” She waited for him to go, and rubbed the heels of her hands into her eyes, trying to ease away the incipient headache. Something heavy was settling onto her, an unpleasant awareness that the world was aslant and she was at the higher end. What could she do?

She looked at the article, at the shadowy picture of Mrs Wong. Keep going. The world would always be unfair, and mostly unknowable, but she had the leverage to make a little more truth come to light, and that would have to be enough. One step, then another. She carefully put the cover on her typewriter, and walked out into the summer’s evening.

5

Stella

They were waiting for her at the airport. She noticed them as she got off the plane, right after the corridor of smiling stewardesses in silly tight uniforms, thanking you for flying Singapore Airlines. There were two of them, men, not in uniform but you could tell from the way they stood awkwardly in their badly-ironed shirts, unsmiling, that they were waiting for someone. One of them whispered something to the other, and they approached.

“Stella Remedios?”

“Yes?”

“Please come with us.”