Chapter 38
Jamie pushes the needle through the cheap fabric of his -balaclava, cursing as he accidentally jabs his thumb.
He considers himself relatively domesticated, but he has never mastered sewing, and he can hardly ask Nadeeka.
He’s borrowed the needle and thread from the basket next to the sofa, where she has been working most evenings on Maya’s and Nish’s nativity costumes.
He sucks a bead of blood from his thumb. How does she make it look so easy?
The covert microphone is a wireless plastic disk that records via Bluetooth to his phone.
It looks cheap – it was cheap – but Jamie has tested it and played back a recording of two men talking on the radio, at the approximate distance Jamie is likely to be from New Dawn’s leaders and their confederates at the next meeting.
‘What’s this?’ Nadeeka had said, when she’d picked up the package from the doorstep three days ago. She had turned it over, her interest piqued by the Chinese writing on the label.
‘Just some supplements I saw advertised on Facebook.’ Jamie had wanted to snatch it out of her hand. ‘Probably a load of rubbish.’ His answer had seemed to satisfy her; she hadn’t questioned him further.
Recording a New Dawn meeting fills Jamie with fear, but he’s been to several meetings now and has never seen anyone being searched.
The hidden bug has no incriminating light, makes no noise .
. . there’s no reason for anyone to know it’s there.
And when Jamie passes the resulting evidence to the police, they’ll have more than just his word to go on.
He’s just putting the needle and thread back in Nadeeka’s sewing basket when she and the girls come back from rehearsal. He closes the needle case with a snap.
‘What are you up to?’ Nadeeka says from the lounge doorway, an amused look on her face. She throws her coat over the banister and helps Nish out of hers. ‘Maya, hang yours up, please – coats don’t live on the floor.’
‘I thought I might be able to help, but I think it’s beyond my skill set.’ It troubles Jamie how easily the lies come to him nowadays.
‘You’re a sweetheart for thinking of it.’ She comes in and kisses him. ‘I’m almost done, anyway.’ She pulls out a shimmering white dress. ‘What do you think?’
‘Beautiful.’ Jamie turns to Nish, who has run to see the dress. ‘You’re going to look wonderful.’
‘I get to hide behind a secret door until it’s time for my lines!’
‘How exciting.’ Jamie smiles.
‘But we can’t use the stage till the real thing, so we’re just pretending for now.’
‘Can I have a biscuit?’ Maya calls.
‘No,’ Nadeeka says, without missing a beat, ‘you’ll spoil your tea.’
‘But I’m hungry!’
‘Then you’ll enjoy your meal . . .’ Nadeeka goes into the kitchen to intercept the inevitable attempt to open the biscuit tin, and Jamie lets out a slow breath.
There’s a permanent tightness in his chest nowadays, like indigestion that won’t shift.
‘Go change out of your school things, then we can eat.’ Nadeeka raises her voice.
‘Do you mind watching the girls tomorrow night?’
She’s talking to him, Jamie realizes suddenly, and he walks towards the kitchen as Maya and Nish slope reluctantly upstairs to change. His coat is hanging on the rack in the hall, the balaclava stuffed into one pocket. ‘Sorry, I might not be back till late tomorrow.’
‘You’re working late?’ Nadeeka looks at him. ‘Again?’
‘Probably.’ Jamie holds her gaze. ‘I have to get a report in – Adam’s cracking the whip on this one.’
‘What time will you be home?’
‘Eight maybe. Nine? I’ll let you know.’
There’s a beat.
‘And you’ll be at work?’
‘That’s what I just said.’ Fear makes Jamie defensive, and he sees a flicker of unease in Nadeeka’s eyes.
She opens her mouth to say something, then closes it again.
They stare at each other. Jamie looks away first, straightening a chair that had been perfectly straight to begin with.
‘Do you need any help with dinner?’ he asks.
‘What’s happening to us?’ Nadeeka’s voice is small.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I feel like you’re pulling away from me.’
‘That’s ridiculous.’
She sets down a pan hard on the counter. ‘I’m ridiculous?’
‘I said that’s ridiculous.’ Jamie goes to her, intending to put his arms around her, but she steps away.
‘If you don’t want to be with me—’
‘Of course I want to be with you!’
‘—I’d rather you just said.’
‘Nadeeka, please . . .’ He touches her lightly on the shoulder. ‘I love you.’
‘Do you?’
For a split-second, he thinks about telling her he’s risking his life to expose the sorts of scumbags who would do her harm. He thinks how much better he would feel to release the tension inside him instead of keeping it to himself.
Then he thinks about setting fire to Surinder’s shop, and Nadeeka’s abject horror that someone would do such a terrible thing. And he doesn’t say a word.
‘I guess that’s my answer,’ Nadeeka says.
You idiot! Jamie thinks. ‘No, I—’
But Nadeeka marches past him and into the hall, calling upstairs to the girls. ‘Tea’s ready!’ The conversation is over. Jamie can almost feel his life dissolving around him, minute by minute. He needs to bring down New Dawn before his lies destroy Nadeeka’s trust in him completely.
The meeting the following evening is in the back room of a pub called the King’s Arms. Jamie meets Carrie outside.
He’s disconcerted when she gives him a hug, although he supposes being seen with another woman is the least of his problems right now.
She grins as Jamie pulls on his balaclava.
‘I’m loving the international man of mystery vibes. ’
Jamie gives a weak smile. He can feel the microphone against his scalp. What if it shows from the outside? A lump in the seam, or a darker patch through the weave of the fabric? He fights the urge to touch it. If someone sees it, that’s it. They’ll kill him.
It gives him some small comfort to know that, if things go badly wrong tonight, the bug will capture everything. He imagines the police examining his body, emptying his pockets, interrogating his phone. They’d find the recording, wouldn’t they?
He shakes himself. Nothing will go wrong. He’ll get in, record the meeting, get out. Then he’ll write everything up and present all the evidence to the police, and this nightmare will be over.
‘There are a couple of seats there,’ he says, steering Carrie towards the front of the room.
‘You’re keen,’ she jokes. ‘Do you have an apple for the teacher as well?’
Jamie forces a laugh. It goes against all his instincts to put himself in the front row, so far from the exit, but he needs to be close for the recording to work.
He glances around, hoping Alan won’t be here, but finds the older man is already watching him.
Jamie nods to him in greeting, but Alan simply stares at him, and Jamie’s blood runs cold.
He wonders if the microphone will pick up anything above the rapid drumbeat of his own heart.
The boss and his sidekicks take up their usual positions at the front of the room, a mere three metres from where Jamie and Carrie are sitting.
‘The New Dawn is upon us!’ says the man with the moustache.
Jamie is too close not to join in with the response. He imagines his voice being played in court, and he wonders if people will believe his story, or whether they’ll think he really was part of New Dawn.
A large screen has been set up beside the leaders, the reason for which doesn’t become clear until halfway through the meeting, when the moustached man picks up a remote.
‘Our next action is not taken lightly, but the time for quiet resistance is over.’ His gaze sweeps the room.
‘They’re hosting it in plain sight. No shame.
No attempt to hide their agenda. A celebration of so-called “diversity”.
Foreign languages, foreign cultures taking precedence over our own.
And we’re expected to smile and clap along? ’
There are jeers from the back of the room; shouts of ‘Never!’ heralding applause.
‘They say it’s about opportunity. Inclusion.
But it’s erosion, plain and simple. Another chisel-blow to the foundations of what this nation is.
’ He presses a remote and the TV displays a picture of an imposing building.
‘This is where they’ll gather. Where they’ll showcase their vision of Britain’s future.
’ He pauses, the silence so heavy it’s almost painful. ‘This is our next target.’
The room is electric with anticipation. A chair scrapes against the floor as the boss stands up, and the hum in the air intensifies.
He’s dressed in black; combats tucked into boots, military style, with a ski mask obscuring most of his face.
His gaze moves slowly across the room, then he raises one arm, his fingers clenched in a fist. ‘The New Dawn is upon us!’
‘We step into the light!’ the audience cries.
Jamie’s lips follow the words, but no sound escapes. Because the building on the screen is one Jamie recognizes.