Endgame

By Wilna Adriaanse

Ellie McKenna likes her new, quiet life in the countryside. She has time to reflect on the death of her dad, that fateful night at the police roadblock, and to recover from her physical and psychological scars - the result of her last mission. Here in her safe haven she even finds time to help out as church organist. But when they finally - inevitably - track her down, she knows that she'll need to find out who is looking for her, and why. The keenly anticipated sequel to Blindside.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tafelberg
• Release date: Aug 2, 2019
• ISBN: 9780624086505

Wilna Adriaanse

Wilna Adriaanse is in 1958 in die Kalahari gebore en het op Worcester grootgeword. Haar bekendste boeke is Met ander woorde (2006), Vier seisoene kind (2010) en Dubbelspel (2014). Sy het haar MA-graad in skeppende skryfwerk aan die UK voltooi, en daaruit spruit haar roman ’n Klein lewe (2012). Sy verdeel tans haar tyd tussen Botswana en die Boland.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

The sun was going down when Ellie drove into the town. Old houses and orchards lined both sides of the broad street. A dog scampered across the road. Two elderly people were chatting at a garden gate.

The sign that read Pub was small. It was the string of coloured lights on the veranda that caught her eye. She stopped, got out of the car and went inside. A few tables were occupied. She crossed to the long bar counter and chose the last stool against the wall.

The man who looked up reminded her of Joe. He was younger, but his hair was also thinning and he was strong and sturdily built. Just like Joe, he had a dishcloth hanging at his side.

What will it be?

Ellie looked at the rows of bottles against the wall. She paused at each one, considering. If ever there was a good time, it was now.

Whisky on the rocks. She didn’t have to do everything at once. She had all the time in the world to change to something else.

He poured her drink and when he put it in front of her, he paused.

I had my money on white wine. I’m seldom wrong.

Ellie smiled and shook her head. Not tonight.

Long road behind you, or ahead?

She sipped her drink. Relaxed her shoulders and took a deep breath. Both.

He held out his hand. Wynand Bruwer.

Eleanor.

She hadn’t been looking for a specific place. Nor a specific road. Just a road. She had no idea why she had taken the turnoff. Maybe the place had found her, she thought, standing in front of the house. It was on a hill. Just high enough to see the town a few kilometres in the distance. When she turned around, there was a mountain at her back.

There was a small lawn with a big oak tree, and an irrigation dam with muddy water. Where the lawn ended, someone had made flowerbeds that could be watered from the dam. Neat concrete furrows channelled the water. The beds were bare, except for an occasional weed or spinach plant gone to seed.

She sat down on the swing suspended from a branch of the jacaranda and slowly swung backwards and forwards. The young couple who had lived in the house had clearly had a child.

She had told the owner she wanted the place for six months. Maybe she would move on someday, but for now she wanted to stay under the jacaranda beside the dam.

If she was patient, she might even catch up with herself.

CHAPTER 1

Ellie spotted them in the mirror mounted next to the organ the moment they entered the church. She had never seen them before, but she recognised them immediately. For a moment her body went slack. Subconsciously she had probably been expecting them for some time. She watched as the two young men pushed their sunglasses up onto their foreheads and looked around before taking a seat in the last pew at the back.

Marius stuttered as if he had forgotten his words, but concluded his sermon and announced the closing hymn.

The organ pipes on the wall in front of her sounded the first notes. The music and the voices of the worshippers converged at a point somewhere behind her back.

While she was playing, she watched the two men in the mirror. She tried to remember the past month’s newscasts. A load of abalone intercepted on the N1. Two suspected rhino poachers shot dead in Limpopo. A shooting at the home of a druglord on the Cape Flats. A police chief arrested, another one under investigation. The usual weekly circus.

The two men got to their feet with the rest of the congregation, but didn’t join in the singing. One of them was openly looking around, while the other was fiddling with his cellphone.

Ellie felt relieved when the last note faded away. Marius pronounced the benediction and the congregation responded with a final Amen before they began to file out.

The two at the back were watching her openly as she switched off the organ and closed the lid. With her handbag over her shoulder, she began to descend the stairs of the organ gallery. She looked back and saw them turn and leave through the front door. She looked at her watch. If they hurried, she had about a minute. If they took their time, she had three minutes at most. She raced down the stairs.

Outside, she ducked behind the first row of shrubs. The nearest car began to reverse out of its parking spot, and she opened the passenger door.

What the … The older man’s head jerked to the left. Oh, it’s you, Eleanor. You gave me a fright!

Sorry, Uncle Dirk. Can you give me a lift to Carlos’s café, please? It’s too hot to walk.

Sure. When he pulled away, she didn’t look back. Where’s your car?

Something’s wrong with the ignition. I’ll ask Manie to take a look at it tomorrow. How’s Auntie Patti?

Fine. The children are here for the weekend; that’s why she didn’t come to the service this morning. She misses you.

I miss her too.

How have you been? Why do we see so little of you?

I don’t want to make a nuisance of myself.

He looked at her and shook his head.

Oh, bull— Look how you nearly made me swear on a Sunday.

She laughed and touched his arm. I’ll pop in sometime soon.

Why don’t you come along now and join us for lunch?

She shook her head. Not today, thanks. Say hello to everyone at home.

Two cars were parked in front of the café and, after a quick glance up and down the street, she headed for a house set slightly apart. Years ago someone had put a sign on the gate that read Last house. The red paint was faded and peeling in places. A warm gust chased scraps of paper and dust around the corners of the buildings. Even the dogs looked miserable on a day like this. Ellie walked around the back of the house. When she climbed the steps, the boerboel growled, but didn’t get up. She patted his head in passing.

I’d also much rather be lying in the shade.

The door opened and Wynand looked out. What are you doing, snooping around my house on a Sunday morning?

The elders sent me to ask why you weren’t at the service.

Tell them if they quit drinking earlier on a Saturday night I might get to bed at a decent hour. He held the back door open for her but she shook her head.

I’d like to borrow the bike.

What bee have you got in your bonnet this morning?

She pushed back her hair and smiled up at him. When did you become so nosy?

He turned and she followed him into the kitchen, where he lifted a key from a hook on the wall.

I’ll get the helmet.

Is Gerda back from church yet?

Wynand shook his head. No, she’s probably having tea.

Better not tell her I was here … or about the bike.

He held out the helmet and nodded. You’re not going to ride in that outfit, are you?

Just home.

Where’s your car?

I left it at the church. She handed him her car keys. Do me a favour and ask Manie to fetch it tomorrow and keep it for me? And while it’s there, he might as well give it a service and check the ignition. It plays up now and again.

Anything else?

No, that’s all.

Will you be at work on Wednesday?

She tucked her hair under the helmet. I’ll call you.

Don’t make me regret the day I taught you to ride! he called after her as she hurried down the steps. Take care.

Ellie walked around the back of the house to the outbuilding where the bike was kept. Moments later she rode through the gate, waving at Wynand who was watching from the porch, frowning. She set off through the veld. It had been a dry summer and the soil was baked solid. The first autumn rain had not yet fallen. The sun scorched her skin and the air was hot – but gradually the tight knot at the pit of her stomach relaxed and she sat more easily, her body finding the rhythm of the bike. Her dress had escaped from between her knees and fluttered up to expose her thighs. The day Wynand had taught her to ride she’d discovered a brand-new love. She had begged him to sell her the bike, but he’d refused. Just the sight of it probably still gave him a sense of freedom.

It’s not that I can’t or don’t want to ride any more. It’s just not worth getting the silent treatment for the next week. Gerda says it’s silly at my age and she refuses to visit me in hospital or take care of me if I break something, he said one day when she asked why he didn’t ride any more.

She stopped behind a cactus and walked to the first rock, from where she had an unrestricted view of her house. The yard was deserted. Only the swing under the jacaranda tree moved slightly. The water in the dam nearly made her change her mind, but it wasn’t worth it. She dabbed at the sweat in her neck but a trickle escaped and ran down her chest.

She turned and walked to the ruins of an old building. In a corner of what used to be the front room she lifted a sheet of corrugated iron and retrieved the plastic bag with her backpack. The metal sheet was hot and she dropped it hastily. The bag was covered in dust and cobwebs. She shook off the worst of it and removed the backpack. She pulled her dress over her head and took out a pair of jeans, a T-shirt and a short leather jacket. She exchanged her sandals for woollen socks and leather boots, pinned up her hair and put the helmet back on. Then she sent Marius a message.

Sorry I left in such a hurry. Won’t make it for lunch. Something urgent has come up. Talk to you later.

She switched off her cellphone and hesitated before putting it into her handbag. She pushed the handbag, dress and sandals into the backpack, strapped it to the bike and climbed on. She let the bike run down the hill before she started the engine. The incline was steep and she had to concentrate to keep her balance. Ten minutes later she was on the tarred road. She took a deep breath, opened the throttle and felt the bike respond.

She had hidden the bag of clothing under the metal sheet about a week after her arrival in the town. She wasn’t sure why, but a nagging unease inside her had subsided after she had done it.

She could ride the road with her eyes closed. She felt her body anticipate the bends. She suspected it was the kloof that had made her stop that first evening. When it was behind her and the town lay ahead of her, she breathed easily for the first time in a long while. Like a baby taking its first breath, having passed through the birth canal. The world on this side of the kloof looked different from the one she had come from. It was a new world, with a slower rhythm. Even the colours seemed brighter. If you listened carefully, you could make out faint sounds. A guinea fowl, a car pulling away, two dogs barking in turn. A hadeda taking flight from the roof of a house. Things here had not been reduced to a cacophony, where separate sounds could no longer be distinguished.

She was aware of every car on the road and her eyes kept shifting to the rearview mirror. On the other side of Worcester she stopped at a filling station, filled the tank and bought a sandwich and some fruit juice. She parked the bike under an awning and ate the sandwich standing next to the bike, watching the vehicles that were pulling up. Most were occupied by families on a Sunday outing. Were they on their way to visit someone, or just taking a drive to get out of the house?

At the turnoff on the Du Toitskloof Pass she chose the road over the mountain. Better not to drive through the tollgate and past the cameras. When she crested the ridge, the Peninsula lay beneath her in a haze. There had to be a fire somewhere.

She could have been swimming in the dam under the tree now, she thought with some irritation.

Once she was over the pass, she was glad to speed up again. At the Goodwood off-ramp forty-five minutes later, she hesitated a moment, then carried on. She would come back another day. When she didn’t have to look over her shoulder.

The backpackers’ lodge in Sea Point had secure parking for the bike. The young man at reception got to his feet slowly, sleepily. The small television set behind him was tuned to a reality show.

He handed her a room key and sat back down. On days like these she was glad of people’s inherent laziness and lack of attention.

The room was like any other room in a backpackers’ lodge. Two single beds. Clean linen that had seen better days. The guests who stayed here were not looking for a luxury experience. They believed they were seeing the real South Africa. Like people who choose to sit in the front row at the circus to be salivated on by the clowns and elephants.

Ellie locked her backpack in the wardrobe, locked the door behind her and walked down the passage. The wooden floorboards creaked under her weight.

There was a convenience store on the corner and she was glad to see they still had the Sunday papers. She walked back, carrying the newspapers and a bottle of water. In her room she took off her jacket and boots and lay down on the bed. A few minutes later she got rid of her jeans as well. She opened the curtains and the window. She could smell the sea. It wasn’t a fresh smell – old kelp that had lain in the sun too long, and fish. The room smelled of people.

She scanned the articles in the papers. Nothing drew her attention. There was the usual violence, politics, scandal. All over the world. The shadow on the opposite wall had disappeared, which meant the sun had gone down over the ocean. When she looked at her watch, she saw it was almost six o’clock. She stretched and put her jeans and boots back on. She retrieved a cap from her backpack and put it on her head. The young man was no longer at reception. In his place was a girl with a German accent. She gave Ellie a friendly greeting. The heat still rose from the pavement when she stepped outside. People were loitering, eating ice cream. Tourists were strolling, bottles of water in their hands.

The small restaurant was packed, but she managed to find a table on the pavement, where she ordered a Hunter’s Dry and pasta. She had just taken the first bite when she heard tyres squeal and the sound of a stern voice. Instinctively her hand reached under her arm. Then she remembered she had left her firearm at home. She looked up to see a motorist and a pedestrian shouting at each other. She sipped her cider and carried on eating.

Different scenarios were going through her mind. Who was looking for her, and why? Her first hunch was that Reggie had sent them. Five months down the line, he might have decided she was a liability after all and that something should be done about it. She didn’t think he had expected her to survive the attack. At the time, the investigating unit couldn’t find enough evidence to pin it on him. Being unconscious so long meant that two weeks had lapsed between the incident and her testimony. It had not helped her case, especially since she could not remember the finer details. In the end a psychiatrist had testified that she’d probably identified Reggie as her attacker simply because he was the last person she’d laid eyes on. There was a car full of people who swore that they had dropped her off at home and left. That it was impossible for Reggie to have assaulted her. They had finally managed to make her doubt her own evidence, which is fatal for any case. Once the image in your mind has made room for a different possibility, you can never ignore the alternative again. She still didn’t know Albert’s version of the night’s events. There had been no time to talk about it. Maybe she would ask him one day.

Clara had been so distressed that her recollection of that night had, at best, been incoherent.

And now someone was looking for her. If it wasn’t Reggie, who was it? Ellie pushed away her half-eaten food and knocked back the Hunter’s.

CHAPTER 2

When she had invited him for supper earlier this afternoon, Nick Malherbe knew there’d be more than pizza on the menu.

He wasn’t wrong. She wasn’t a woman for playing games or dropping hints. The plates with the pizza crusts had not even made it to the kitchen when she began to unbutton his shirt.

He slipped his hands under her silky blouse and felt her skin contract under his fingers. He couldn’t remember when last he had felt the touch of a woman’s skin. Better not to remember. He might start feeling sorry for himself.

He was undoing her bra with one hand when his cellphone rang. Her hands stopped moving and he groaned. He should have switched the damn thing off, or at least put it on silent.

He looked at his watch and then at the screen. It was Monica – senior analyst at Interpol, and technically his boss. When Monica Blake phoned on a Sunday night, you answered. Especially if you were waiting for good news. If the reason for the call was what he thought it might be, he was about to wind up the biggest and longest case of his career. In his imagination he saw the sign: Gone fishing. Maybe he should invite his neighbour along.

Malherbe.

Can you talk?

Nick felt warm lips on his neck. The signal is weak, give me a second to go outside. He got to his feet. Sorry, I have to take this. Work.

As long as you come back. She stretched out on the couch.

Do you have visitors? Monica asked.

It’s just the TV.

When was the last time you saw Clara Veldman or heard from her? Monica cut to the chase.

Nick hesitated a moment. It wasn’t the conversation he had been expecting. I ran into her in the city a month or two ago, but Williams’s men were with her so we just exchanged a quick greeting. She seemed nervous. Why do you ask?

She appears to have been kidnapped outside a restaurant in Camp’s Bay on Friday night.

The heat of a few moments ago seemed to evaporate and a chill passed through his body. With one hand he held the front of his shirt together. Where did you hear this?

I still have a few reliable contacts down there. You know they don’t always have the details. They tell me what they hear. Sometimes it’s no more than rumour.

Was it reported to the police? Have the kidnappers contacted her family?

Steady now. As I’ve said, I don’t have all the information. It’s —

What did I tell you? he interrupted her.

I know.

Repeat what I said to you. I want to know if you remember my exact words.

You said Clara remains a risk.

Why didn’t you believe me?

It’s not that I didn’t believe you. You know how we battle to get support. I warned you at the time that this wouldn’t be easy.

Silence.

You still there?

Yes.

I don’t like it when you go quiet. That’s when you get dangerous and I’m not sure what to expect.

Don’t worry.

And those are words I don’t want to hear at all.

We don’t always get what we want. I definitely didn’t want to hear this tonight either. How are you getting along with the paperwork?

Nearly finished.

And?

So far it seems as if everything is there. I don’t like the word ‘watertight’, but you did a good job. If we don’t succeed with this, we should change careers.

We can’t do anything without the final paperwork, so tell the guys to move their arses. I want to finish it this week, if possible.

I’ll tell them. Would you like me to try to find out about Clara?

No, leave it to me. We don’t even know if it was really a kidnapping.

Nick, technically her disappearance has nothing to do with us. We’re not responsible for her safety.

If you believe that, you definitely don’t understand what’s going on down here.

Okay. I’ll leave it in your hands, but I want to be kept in the loop. And let me know if you need help.

Do you want to come and hold my hand?

If it’s what you need.

It’s not. See that the paperwork is finished. I’ve had it.

He heard her take a breath as if she wanted to say something more. Then she exhaled softly. Goodnight.

Nick ended the call.

Five months ago, when Captain Albert Greyling and his sidekicks arrested and charged him with kidnapping Lieutenant Eleanor McKenna and Clara Veldman, Monica had rushed down to Cape Town to come and explain who and what he was. A few weeks later, the big meeting took place. Everyone was there. Brigadier Andile Zondi, head of the Crime Intelligence Unit, with McKenna’s colleague, Clive Barnard. Brigadier Ibrahim Ahmed, who headed up the Serious Economic Offences Unit. Albert Greyling, and several other people he didn’t know. He’d felt naked standing there. The day you let yourself in for a project like that you definitely don’t tell the whole world about it.

Monica had wanted him summarily removed from the case, but he couldn’t just walk away from five years’ work. Even if it meant that his safety was compromised. There were others who now knew that he wasn’t actually the Allegretti family’s chief of security. At times he felt a shiver go down his spine, which he suppressed. It was just another daily risk. However bizarre it might seem, what counted in his favour was that police officers were charged with fraud on a daily basis. He could probably tell the Allegrettis that he was a cop and they wouldn’t bat an eye. On the contrary, it might make him a bigger asset.

Despite the luxury and the breathtaking view over the Atlantic Ocean, he’d no longer wanted to stay in Allegretti’s apartment. He had rented a flat in Tamboerskloof. It was in an old block, but the rooms were spacious and he felt he could reach out and touch the mountain. He could breathe more easily. He had bought a few pieces of furniture at a second-hand dealer around the corner. His favourite piece was a scuffed leather couch. The bed was new, because he didn’t fancy being woken up by a stranger’s nightmares. He had enough of his own.

He was not in his own flat at present, but at his neighbour’s. The two of them had met on the stairs one day and struck up a conversation. A few more chance meetings in the passage and on the stairs had followed. One Tuesday evening, she had invited him for supper.

Allegretti had been home and Nick had unexpectedly had a free evening. He’d always found Tuesday nights boring and without potential, which was probably why he’d accepted the invitation. Her name was Carin and she worked for an advertising agency in the city, liked to travel and was easy company, meaning that she didn’t ask unnecessary questions – not yet, anyway. She’d entertained him with stories about her work and her travels. It suited him. There had been more suppers, and a light flirtation had ensued.

When he came back inside and shut the sliding door, she spoke behind him. He turned. She was naked. Her figure reminded him of Gabriella’s. Slim but curvaceous, the breasts large and firm.

It’s rude to take calls from other girls when you’re with me, she said, smiling.

I’m sorry. It was genuinely work.

This time of night?

He had told her he worked in the security industry.

Unfortunately, yes. And I have to go.

You must be joking.

I’m afraid not.

I’m sure whatever it is can wait.

Nick put his hand on her hip. Her skin was warm to his touch and he smelled her perfume. A little too floral for his taste, but subtle, at least.

She stepped closer and undid the last button of his shirt. He kissed her bare shoulder and decided it would indeed be rude to leave. He pulled her towards him.

Nick unlocked the door of his flat and looked at his watch. He wondered if Allegretti had heard the news yet. There was a good chance that by this time he was in no condition to register anything. Clara was the only person who could ever manage to talk sense into him and stop him when he lost control completely.

Nick stripped off his clothes, had a quick shower, gathered up the keys to his bakkie and hurried down the stairs. He sincerely hoped the news had not yet reached Allegretti. He was quite capable of driving over to Williams’s home.

On his way to Bantry Bay another thought struck him – what if Allegretti had kidnapped Clara himself? For all their sakes he hoped that wasn’t the case. The outcome would be bloody.

The house looked quiet and dark when Nick parked his car. The house was often quiet these days. Allegretti still occasionally invited people over but after an hour or so he often asked them to leave. He didn’t feel like company any more.

The security guards assured Nick that Allegretti had been home all day. He couldn’t decide whether that was good or bad news.

He unlocked the front door and took the stairs two at a time. The spacious living room was dark, but a light was burning on the staircase leading to the top floor. Voices came from the living room. He stopped. The guards would probably have told him if there were guests. When he reached the top of the stairs he realised that the voices he had heard had come from the TV. On the coffee table was half a bottle of tequila and an empty bottle of Bollinger. He saw traces of white powder.

Nick called Allegretti’s name. When he got no reply, he looked in the main bedroom. The bed had been slept in, but there was no sign of Allegretti. Nor was there any sign of him in the bathroom or dressing room. Nick hurried down the stairs and went to the gym at the back of the house. Not that it was likely that Allegretti had had a sudden urge to exercise. When he didn’t find him there either, he checked the rest of the rooms and the flat on the lower level.

Next he went to Patrice’s quarters and knocked. The door was slightly ajar, so Nick pushed it open. The room was in a shambles. Furniture had been knocked over. A dark stain was visible at the entrance to the bedroom. A reddish brown trail led through the bedroom to the bathroom.

Patrice was lying in a pool of blood on the bathroom floor. His eyes were open and his breathing was shallow.

Nick bent over Patrice and took out his cellphone.

I need an ambulance urgently, he said into the phone and gave the address. Someone has been shot.

He touched Patrice. I’m here. The ambulance is on its way. Don’t move. He removed the towel Patrice seemed to have been pressing against the wound and saw that his hunch had been correct. Patrice had a gunshot wound to the stomach. Nick took a clean towel from the rail and pressed it against the wound. He would have liked to look for an exit wound, but it was too risky to move Patrice.

What happened, Patrice? At the moment he didn’t care much about the details but he didn’t want Patrice to lose consciousness. What happened? Where’s Enzio?

Patrice tried to shake his head. Sorry.

Who shot you? When he got no reply, he sat down and called the guard at the gate.

I’m expecting an ambulance. Open the gate and bring them to Patrice’s quarters as quickly as possible.

Nick didn’t wait for a reply. Instead, he focused on Patrice. Open your eyes and talk to me. Who shot you?

But Patrice’s eyes were closed and he was no longer responding to questions.

Nick was prepared to suffer the consequences for his choices and decisions, but it was hard when someone else had to pay the price. He had recruited Patrice, and though he’d made sure the man understood the implications of the job, he still felt responsible. And helpless. He hated the feeling.

After what seemed like an eternity, Nick heard voices and two paramedics entered the bathroom.

He’s been shot. He’s lost a lot of blood, he told the man kneeling next to Patrice. Then he got to his feet and left them to do their job.

Ten minutes later Patrice was in the back of the ambulance. There was a needle in his arm, connected to an intravenous drip. Nick said he would follow in his bakkie.

No one is to enter the house, he gave orders at the gate. Not even you. And call me the moment anyone arrives.

It was almost one o’clock when they stopped at the Christiaan Barnard Memorial Hospital in the city. The emergency unit was a hive of activity, but Patrice was rushed through a door marked Triage. A sister closed the door.

Can you wait in the waiting room, please? she said through a chink.

Nick walked back to where he had seen the waiting room. It was crowded. He had never been good at waiting, and he hated hospitals, especially waiting rooms. His father had died when he was very young, but he could still recall the smell. And the hard chairs. At times he and his brother had been so tired that they’d slept on the carpet, while his mom had spent hour after hour waiting on a hard chair. Hopeful that someone would bring her some good news.

Years later he and his brother had waited on similar chairs for news about their mother. The news had always been brought to them in a waiting room. He preferred to wait in the corridor.

Monica picked up at the third ring. He told her that Patrice had been shot and Allegretti was missing.

Where are you?

At the hospital.

Have you notified the police?

No, I didn’t have time.

You don’t plan to notify them, do you?

No.

Do you think it’s smart to try to hide something like that?

I’m not going to hide it. I just want to be able to choose who and what I allow near the case. If I throw the doors open now, the case will be fucked before sunrise.

Do you have anyone in mind?

I’m still thinking.

Nick, I’m sorry about Patrice. I know you recruited him yourself and you feel responsible for him, but you didn’t shoot him.

I have to go. Talk to you later.

I know that tone of voice. It doesn’t bode well.

What tone?

The one that says you won’t listen to advice.

Depends whose advice. He ended the call before she could reply.

Nick pushed himself away from the wall and looked at the people walking past. The staff looked tired. Some managed a hint of a smile. A feeble attempt to look encouraging. Others didn’t take the trouble.

From where he was standing, the waiting room across the passage was like a tidal pool. People came and went. At times there were a few vacant chairs, but every new wave brought different people. Children sat on their parents’ laps, most of them in pyjamas. Couples were holding on to each other. Old people looked scared and bewildered. Here and there was a lone person, looking neither right nor left. Some looked close to death, others seemed in perfect health. But Nick was old enough to know that where the signs were invisible, the problems were sometimes greatest. Deep pain was dangerous pain.

He was relieved when he was called to sign the documents for Patrice’s admission. It was better than just standing around.

Then he noticed the date and exhaled audibly. He must remember to call her tomorrow. Could it have been five years already?

Ellie looked at her watch. She put the pay-as-you-go SIM card in the phone and dialled his number. She waited a long time before the familiar voice answered.

Barnard.

It’s me. Were you asleep?

Mac?

Yes.

Where the hell are you?

She imagined Clive’s face. It was a miracle he had said nothing worse than hell.

I’m calling to find out how you are. Ellie had decided not to tell him about the two men in the church just yet. She hoped he would tell her if anything had happened.

There was a moment’s silence, before he laughed brusquely. Fuck you, McKenna! You disappear for almost five months without letting me know if you’re still alive. Then you phone on a Sunday evening to ask how I am. How do you think I am, with no news of you for five whole months?

I’m sorry …

The most overrated word in the world. It means fuck-all.

Clive … has anything happened that I should know about?

Like what?

"I