‘My sister.’
Then, looking past him into the kitchen, Sarah saw the back door slowly open. To her astonishment a middle-aged woman in a grey coat came in; she was short and stocky and had a round face, hard, sharp eyes behind steel spectacles and a tight mouth. She was carrying, of all things, a shopping bag. She put a finger to her lips, indicating Sarah should be quiet. Then, as Sarah watched frozen to the spot, she walked quietly but very quickly through the kitchen into the hall, up behind the policeman. She drew something from her pocket, raised it and hit the policeman sharply on the back of the head just as, becoming aware of something, he’d begun to turn towards her. He let out a cry and stumbled sideways into the banisters, blood seeping from the base of his skull. Sarah saw the woman had a small lead pipe in her hand, the sort of weapon the Jive Boys used.
‘I’m from the Resistance,’ the woman said, quickly and sharply. ‘Your husband is with us, we’ve come to get you.’ All the time she had one eye on the dazed policeman. He groaned and to Sarah’s horror began to stagger upright, blinking as he looked at the two women. ‘You fucking bitches,’ he said groggily, ‘You’ve had it now . . .’
He reached inside his coat. The woman was holding up her piece of pipe threateningly, ready to lunge forward, but the policeman was pulling a gun from his pocket. Sarah heard a click as he cocked it. Then he turned at the sound of a shriek from the top of the stairs. Irene stood there, her coat over one arm, staring at the man in horror.
Sarah reached out and picked up the heavy Regency vase from the telephone table. She lifted it above her head with both arms and brought it down with all her strength on the top of the policeman’s head. He made a little moan and fell down in a heap.
Irene put her hands to her face. ‘Oh my God, oh my God,’ she moaned, over and over again. The stranger reached down and picked up the gun. Then she put a hand to the policeman’s neck. All her movements were swift and professional.
‘He’s alive,’ the woman said in a sharp voice. ‘You did well there.’ She stood up, then went into the lounge and, twitching the net curtain aside, looked out. Irene came down the stairs and stood at the bottom, staring. Sarah put her arm round her. The woman came back. ‘Mrs Fitzgerald,’ she said sharply, ‘we must go now.’ She looked at Irene. ‘Are you her sister?’
‘Yes. Are you from—’
‘The Resistance. Does anyone else know you’re here?’
‘No—’
‘Then you get out of here, now. Get into your car and drive away. We’ll go out the back way. Go on. We won’t have much time; they’ll soon start wondering what happened to him.’ She looked down at the unconscious policeman. ‘I’ll deal with him.’
‘What do you mean, deal with him?’ Irene asked, her voice horrified.
The woman looked meaningfully at the gun, then back at Irene.
‘No!’ Sarah shouted. ‘You’re not going to kill a man in my house.’
‘He saw me,’ Meg answered levelly. ‘And worse, he saw your sister. Do you want her identified, her family arrested and questioned?’
‘Oh God, the children . . .’ Irene sat on the bottom stair, on the point of collapse.
Meg looked fixedly at Sarah. ‘This is a war, and you’re in it now. You’re not on the sidelines any more.’
Sarah said, ‘How did you know to come in when you did?’
Meg snapped, ‘Because I’ve been watching this house for hours. Watching you two through the window. I was just about to come and get you this morning when –’ she inclined her head at Irene – ‘you drove up. I’ve been walking up and down the road, waiting for you to leave, pretending to be a woman shopping. I saw the police car come and thought it was now or never. All right?’ Her voice rose angrily.
‘Go now,’ Sarah said to Irene. ‘Now.’ She went to her and gave her sister an immense hug. ‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.’
Irene pulled away. She looked at the body by the stairs, the brightly coloured pieces of the broken vase. She said to Sarah, ‘I love you.’
‘I love you, too. Now go, think of the children.’
For an unbearable moment Irene stood irresolute, then she put on her coat, walked slowly to the door and went out.
The woman turned to Sarah. ‘You’d better get your coat too, it’s cold. Go on.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘Meg. Now hurry.’
Sarah fetched her coat and handbag. Outside, she heard Irene’s car engine start and the vehicle pull away. She wondered if she would ever see her again. Meg said, ‘Go and wait in the back garden. I’ll join you in a moment.’
Standing in the cold garden, looking at the brown flowerbeds she and David had worked on not much more than a week ago, Sarah heard a muffled bang from inside the house. She closed her eyes.
Meg came out. Her prim little mouth was set hard. She met Sarah’s look challengingly. ‘We have to climb over the fence, get to the lane that runs along the back. That’s how I got in. Be careful not to tear your clothes. We’re going on public transport, you don’t want to draw any attention to yourself.’
‘Where are we going?’
Meg smiled encouragingly then, the first touch of humanity Sarah had seen in her face. ‘Somewhere safe,’ she said.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
FRANK FELT BEN’S PINCH and when he woke he thought he was back at school, in the dormitory, and they were doing something to him. He screamed. Then he saw he was in a strange room, with David and Ben and it all came back; he hadn’t managed to kill himself and now they had him.
David leaned forward and put a hand on his shoulder, making him flinch. He said, ‘It’s all right, Frank, we’ve got you away from the hospital, we’re going to take you somewhere safe.’ Frank stared back at him. Last night, when David came up to him in the road, he had felt a surge of relief for a second and then renewed fear, because his friend had to be part of the conspiracy. He couldn’t remember anything since then. David’s expression now was the same as last night’s, a sort of desperate compassion.
‘Where am I?’ Frank said. His head was thumping, his voice hoarse.
‘In a house some way from the hospital. We’re safe.’ Frank became aware of sounds outside the room, footsteps. David gave him a sickly smile. ‘You’ve startled everybody, yelling like that.’
The door opened and Geoff came in. ‘What happened?’
‘Frank woke up; he shouted, he’s confused. It’s all right.’
Ben asked Frank, ‘How’re ye feeling?’
‘I’ve a headache.’ There were other people in the doorway now; he saw a tall, pretty woman who Frank thought had been there the night before, and a stern-looking old man.
‘What’s going on?’ the old man asked sharply. ‘That yell gave Elsie a shock. What’s the matter with him?’
He gave Frank a worried stare. Frank had seen that look before, on the faces of visitors coming to the asylum, people who were scared of the mad. Ben said, briskly, ‘Leave David and me wi’ him, will you? Every thing’s all right.’
The others went out, the old man giving Frank that look again over his shoulder. Ben asked him some more about his headache, which was fading now, held fingers up in front of his face for him to count, took his pulse. ‘You’ll do,’ he said, looking relieved. ‘Sorry I had tae give you such a big dose last night, but we had to get you out.’ He looked genuinely apologetic.
‘Why have you done this?’
‘We’re all working for the Resistance, pal. We’ re gonna get ye oot the country.’
Frank turned to David, his voice catching. ‘Why?’