Chapter 40
‘It was nice of you to pop round,’ Jamie follows the trio into the sitting room.
Carrie must have told them he’d signed in sick.
‘I hope you brought grapes and a bottle of Lucozade.’ He forces a laugh, but it dies as soon as it leaves his lips, and he’s left with an odd, heavy sensation in his throat, as though he might cry.
‘I brought Alan and Chris with me,’ Carrie says. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’
‘Not at all.’ Of course he fucking minds, but what’s he going to do about it? ‘It’s very thoughtful of you to check in on me, but I’m fine, really. Just a stomach bug, I think.’
He wishes they’d sit down. Carrie’s standing still, but the other two are roaming restlessly around the room, looking out of the window, touching the sofa, the cushions. What do they want?
His phone buzzes in his pocket.
‘Aren’t you going to get that?’ Chris says.
Act normal, Jamie tells himself. ‘Oh. Yeah. Okay.’ He takes out his phone. Nadeeka. Jesus, of all the times to call . . . ‘Hiya, can I phone you back?’ He keeps his eyes on Carrie, who’s saying something to Chris. ‘I’m just in the middle—’
‘Are you in the office?’ Nadeeka says.
‘Yes. I’ll call you—’
‘Who’s that talking?’
‘The HR manager. We’re in a meeting. Look, sorry, but I have to go.’ He ends the call and turns his phone to silent.
‘Alan and Chris have raised a few concerns.’ Carrie takes no notice of the interruption.
‘And instead of going straight to the boss, they came to me. I’m your sponsor, Jamie.
’ She waits expectantly, and a frown shadows her features as it becomes clear he isn’t following.
‘If you’re not fully aligned with New Dawn’s ethos, it’s not just your neck on the line, it’s mine too. ’
‘B-but I am aligned.’ Jamie’s trying to keep control, but a tremor runs through his body and chatters his teeth.
He’s made them suspicious, that much is obvious.
He doesn’t know what they know, but he needs to get them out of the house before his cover is blown completely.
‘Shall we . . . we could go for a coffee? A drink?’
‘I don’t think so.’ Alan’s suddenly at his side, looming over him, his face no longer blank but full of rage. He jabs Jamie hard in the chest and Jamie stumbles backwards, falling on to the sofa. ‘Who the fuck are they?’ He thrusts a silver oval picture frame in Jamie’s face.
The photograph had been on the windowsill.
It pre-dates Jamie – Maya and Nish had been around five and three – but Nadeeka looks the same in the picture as she does now.
Shoulder--length glossy black hair, dark eyes, two tiny dimples either side of her smile.
Her skin a touch darker than her daughters.
Jamie opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. What can he say? A friend? A cousin? A stock image bought with the frame and never replaced? He suddenly realizes he can’t see Chris. Where is he? Upstairs, looking for more photos?
‘I said, who the fuck are they?’ Alan says, louder now. ‘Is your wife a fucking Paki? Are these your fucking bastard half-castes?’
Perhaps it’s the knowledge that there’s no longer anything to lose. Perhaps it’s the slurs, which are hard enough to stomach when generic; impossible when directed at three people Jamie knows, respects and loves. Either way, Jamie can pretend no longer.
He half-stumbles, half rolls off the sofa. ‘Don’t call them that, you racist piece of shit!’
‘I knew you were lying.’ Alan grabs Jamie’s collar, yanking him to his feet. ‘I fucking told you, Carrie.’
‘I know, I know you did . . .’ There’s something else beneath Carrie’s anger. Tears? Fear? ‘I thought I could trust him, I thought he—’
‘He was going to grass us up.’ Chris’s voice cuts through the chaos, and for a moment there’s silence.
Alan turns to look at him, pulling Jamie’s shirt with him, his knuckles pressing into Jamie’s windpipe.
Chris holds up Jamie’s laptop, and any last vestige of hope Jamie might have had vanishes.
‘He’s written it all down. Names, dates, descriptions. All our plans.’
Carrie gasps. ‘We need to call the boss.’ She takes out her phone.
‘And do what in the meantime?’ Chris snaps the laptop shut and frisbees it on to the armchair. ‘We can’t let him go.’
‘I won’t say anything.’ Jamie tries to wrench himself free, but Alan pulls him close and drives a knee into his stomach. Jamie cries out. He thinks he might vomit.
‘The boss’s phone is off,’ Carrie says.
‘Call his personal number.’ Chris is mirroring Alan now, both men gripping Jamie’s shirt, manhandling him away from the sofa, slamming him up against the wall.
‘That’s only for emergencies.’
‘This is a fucking emergency, you stupid bint.’ Flecks of Alan’s spit land on Jamie’s face. He can smell their breath now, see the mix of rage and panic in their eyes.
‘Okay, it’s ringing.’
Jamie summons all his strength. He twists to the side, launches himself at the two men pinning him against the wall, but Chris lands a punch to his stomach and—
‘Boss, it’s Carrie. I’m sorry to call this number, but we’ve got a problem.’
‘What the fuck?’ Alan releases his grip. Chris too. Suddenly unsupported, Jamie slides to the floor. His insides have turned to liquid, the pain in his gut like nothing he’s ever felt before. He presses his hands to his stomach.
‘Oh, my God . . .’ Carrie’s voice breaks and when she speaks again it’s small and scared. ‘A really big problem, boss.’
Alan’s backing away. ‘Jesus, Chris, what did you do that for?’
‘He was going to grass us up.’
Jamie’s fingers are warm and slippery. He looks down.
Not a punch.
He’s been stabbed.
Chris is holding the knife away from his own body, as though it’s nothing to do with him, as though Jamie’s blood dripping from the blade is incidental.
‘We’re going to need a clean-up.’ Carrie is still on the phone, although her voice sounds far away, coming to Jamie through water, through a metallic sound in his ears like the ringing of a bell.
He can’t see anything now, his vision clouded with black stars that dance across his eyes.
He tries to summon a picture of Nadeeka, but the black stars are thickening and quickening and—
‘A full clean-up,’ comes Carrie’s distant voice. ‘He’s not going to make it. Can you sort it, boss?’
Everything is muffled now. Soft. Wrong.
He blinks, once, twice, trying to clear the blur from his eyes, but the darkness is creeping in fast. The stars burst and scatter across his vision, each one growing larger, swallowing the world in flickering patches.
He tries to hold on to something – someone – Nadeeka’s face, her laugh, anything to anchor him. But even that is slipping.
I can’t die.
The thought slices through the fog, sharp and sudden. I can’t die, not now.
Because no one else knows what New Dawn are planning.
It’s all in his head and on his laptop, but they’ll destroy that now, won’t they? The blueprint for the next target. The chilling, clinical plan to devastate a community. Jamie’s chest convulses as he tries in vain to suck in air.
Explosives.
Enough to kill hundreds of innocent people.
And Jamie’s the only person outside New Dawn who knows when and where.
He coughs. Chokes. Tries to speak. Nothing comes. The black stars merge into a single blanket of darkness.
And then it’s over.
Jamie has failed.